


Introductio in Analysin Daemonium Infinitorum

by Devilc



Category: Friday Night Lights, Supernatural
Genre: Calculus, Crossover, M/M/M, Mathematics, Multi, Threesome, Trigonometry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-15
Updated: 2010-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-06 08:01:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 49,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilc/pseuds/Devilc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bobby Singer's taken in two novice Hunters, and as Sam Winchester races to save Dean's life, he gets his own turned upside down by falling in love with one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the cleaned up master version of a story I began writing for MiniNano back in November 2007. The plan was to finish it and post it before the end of S3 of SPN and S2 FNL -- obviously that didn't happen.
> 
> Yes, the title is a reference to Euler's [Introductio In Analysin Infinitorum](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Introductio_in_analysin_infinitorum).
> 
> Thanks to Tartysuz and Ixchel55 for the swift beta.

"So, I'm still looking into that -- Jesus, boy! Put that damn thing down! You do not want to be letting what's trapped in there out! Don't you know any better than to wander around picking stuff up -- especially stuff around here? Are you sure you played Tight End and not Dumb Ass?"

Sam heard some muffled snickering in the background. He'd heard from some other Hunters that Bobby had picked up two new Hunters-in-training on a trip to Texas.

"Uh, sorry 'bout that, Sam." Bobby cleared his throat. "I'm still looking into that thing. But short of putting you-know-who into a you-know-what, I don't think we're going to find a quick and easy answer to that question."

Fuck. Sam sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Um. So, is that your new Hunters? The ones I've heard about?"

"What about them?" Irritation laced the reply.

"Oooookay. That tells me a lot right there."

"Well, now, they're not bad kids, Sam, the problem is, they're both just kids. Kids who stumbled into this whole thing by accident and then bit off way more than they can chew."

"So, tell me about them. I mean, if they're working with you, Dean and I are going to meet them and I'd like to know a bit about what to expect."

A long pause followed. So long Sam thought his phone had dropped the call.

"Well ..." Bobby finally said, "you know how your dad and I didn't quite see eye to eye on how he was raising you boys?"

"Yeah, I remember." And boy did Sam ever. It had almost come to blows between his dad and Bobby on a few occasions.

"I'm now walking a mile in his shoes --"

_Oh._

" -- and damned if he wasn't righter about keeping you boys in hand than I ever dreamed."

Sam felt himself smile in spite of everything as he replied, "Oh, is that so?"

"Landry, he's a good kid, bright, when he's not wandering around my workshop picking up stuff at random. Got a motormouth, too, but you only got to show him something once, maybe twice, and it's done. He likes math. Can quote the Bible, chapter and verse, too.

"The other one, Tim. He's ... Dean, only without the training. He's loyal and got a good kind of cunning, and a good heart, too, but I'll be damned if he doesn't have a real knack for just stumbling into shit up to his eyebrows. That boy chases so much skirt, I had to check to see if he wasn't an incubus. Eats like he has a hollow leg, too."

"I love you, too Bobby," Sam heard a voice with a soft Texas accent say in the background. "Even if your beer is watery."

"What?! Tim -- that's my special reserve!"

"Really? 'Cause it's pretty weak. Tastes like it's been watered down."

Sam had to clap a hand over his mouth to hold the snickers back.

"It has been. I put holy water in it."

"Wow. Does that mean it washes your sins away as you get drunk?" Pause. "What? Just thought I'd ask."

Bobby made several inarticulate sputtering noises as he struggled to find words.

"I see you've got your hands full. I'll keep in touch," Sam said as he hung up and started chortling with laughter.

"What's so funny?" Dean asked.

Sam looked at him and grinned. "I think Bobby has met his match." Pause. "That, or Dad hexed him from beyond the grave."

~oo(0)oo~

The first time Sam and Dean met Bobby's protégés, they were working on John's old truck.

An almost towheaded blond kid sat on a stool next to the tool box, a book in his lap and another on the ground, while his companion was bent over the engine compartment.

They both looked over curiously as Sam and Dean parked the Impala and walked up the drive.

"That's our dad's truck you're working on," Dean said in a weirdly flat voice.

"Yup." The guy with the do-rag tied over his hair and the socket wrench in his hand replied. "And a year or so spent sitting in an impound lot didn't do it a damn bit of good."

"So, who said you two could work on it?" Dean asked, an edge in his voice. Sam laid a warning hand on his arm, but Dean shrugged it off. Dean knew how to fight, but this guy, though about Dean's height, looked built. Not muscle bound like a bear, but sleek and powerful, like a panther. Not a guy you wanted to tangle with, untrained or not.

Do-rag shrugged. "Bobby said to get it running again."

The blond carefully set the book aside and stood up, holding out his hand, he said, "Hi, before this gets any further, I'm Landry, and this is Tim."

Sam took it. "Sam Winchester, and this is my brother, Dean."

Tim held up his oil blackened hands and said, "I'd shake, but as you can see, your dad's truck -- which is hexed up six ways from Sunday, by the way -- pissed all over me." Sam could see his eyes, hazel, but more honey colored than brown, like a cat's. They had a sort of devil-may-care gleam in them, too; this Tim didn't give a shit what Sam or Dean thought about him tinkering on Dad's truck. So yeah. Sam could see how Tim reminded Bobby of what Dean had been like at that age. He probably thought he was damn near immortal, too.

"Bobby's expecting you guys," Landry said.

Sam was on the porch when voices floated up from the drive.

"What are you waiting for, Lando, start reading."

"Which one?"

"That Chilton's manual for witches thing."

Sputtering noises. "The Malleus Malefacarum is _not_ a Chilton's manual, Tim!"

"Whatever. Less talking, more reading."

"'Chilton's manual for witches'." Dean said, eyebrow raised, as soon as they got in the door.

Bobby actually laughed at that. "He's just saying that to get Landry's goat. Tim's actually brighter than he lets on. What can I do you for?"

"Dad's truck?" Dean asked, crossing his arms and slouching against the table.

Bobby took his cap off and ran his hand through his hair before replacing it. "Yeah. Well, it's a good truck, and I figured John would want it going to use, seeing that Tim's truck was destroyed and Landry's car -- oh, it's a doozy of a story -- and," his voice took on a hint of desperation, "I needed a project that would take awhile and keep them both occupied. You. Have. No. Idea. what those boys can get up to when left to their own devices."

"Yeah," Sam added, deciding to let Bobby off the hook, "I overheard something from some other Hunters about a Succubus."

Bobby buried his head in his hands and groaned long and loud before laughing almost hysterically. "He wore her out."

"What?!" Sam and Dean said in unison.

"Amazingly enough Tim's a real stickler for safe sex. Insisted on using a condom every time, wouldn't come in her mouth, went down on her while he was waiting for it to come up again -- she got nothing off of him."

"Except several mind-blowing orgasms," Tim said from the other side of the screen door, as he wiped his hands clean with the degreaser and a shop rag.

"Tell 'em the rest of the story, Bobby," Landry said, book tucked under his arm, "because that's never not funny."

Tim shot Landry a perturbed look.

Bobby laughed even harder and said, "Alright. Yeah, so, I caught him and her going at it in the back of the Chevelle at a motel outside of Salina, and I saw instantly what she was -- because somebody completely failed to notice the red glint in her eyes -- and broke it up, and she's got such Jello legs by then that she didn't put up much of a fight when Landry and I pitched her in the trunk. And I asked Tim how long they'd been going at it and how many times he's come and --"

"You were impressed, admit it," Tim said as he stepped through the door into the room.

Bobby shot him a dark look and continued, "Well, I came to what seemed like the logical conclusion based what I'd just been told and I looked at him and said 'Christo' and he looked right back at me and said --" Bobby opened his eyes wide and shifted to a slow drawl "-- 'Oh, no sir, anything grease or oil based will make a condom break, even I know that. Besides, she wasn't having any problems in that department.'"

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam noted that Dean was laughing even harder than he was at the story.

Tim threw his hands in the air. "So, I thought he was saying Crisco -- it's an honest mistake. I mean,_really_, do I look like the kind of guy who knows Latin?"

"No, no you don't." Dean shook his head and smiled as he wiped a tear from his eye.

"So," Bobby said, drawing in a deep breath, "You see some of what I've been dealing with the past few weeks."

~oo(0)oo~

That night, as he was heading down the hall to the front room -- Landry and Tim shared Bobby's spare bedroom -- Tim stepped out of the bathroom and stopped him, his voice soft, husky. "Bobby's told us a lot about your dad and what happened. Finding that truck and getting it out of impound -- it was important to him."

Sam nodded.

Tim continued, "What I'm trying to say is, Landry and I are going to fix that truck right and we're going to take good care of it, no matter what."

Sam nodded again, then said, "I don't know how long Dean and I are going to be here -- probably not long -- but Dean's going to be a bit tetchy about it. He and Dad, they were real tight."

Tim nodded solemnly.

"He might want to help you, he might not. But ..." Sam felt his mouth twitch up at the corner, "if he lets you touch his Impala, that means you've passed."

Tim gave him a strange half-smile in return. "Got it."

~oo(0)oo~

God, he's ripped, Sam thought as Tim moseyed into the kitchen, clad in a pair of boxer briefs despite the chill in the morning air, helped himself to a pile of pancakes and a heaping spoon of eggs and tucked in.

Tim didn't say much, just ate, and then he showered -- his hair still looked kind of greasy, but not sleep tangled when he came back down the hall clad in a pair of ratty overalls and a shirt, parked one of Bobby's ball caps bill backwards on his head, and headed straight for the truck.

After breakfast, Sam tried to take Bobby aside and talk about what, if anything, he had discovered in the interim, but he was an idiot and let slip that he had offed the Crossroads Demon and that just lead to another yelling match with Dean. Landry had vacated the room at some point; Dean slammed the front door behind him and roared away in the Impala when it was over, and Bobby skewered him with a look and then said he wanted to be alone to think about something for awhile. Sam sank down to the couch and tried not to give into despair.

Finally he decided that he ought to go see what Tim was doing to the truck, because talking to him might help him put his mind off the fact that in another few months he was losing Dean.

(No, it wouldn't, because that was always there, 24-7, but at least this would move it to the back burner for awhile.)

His boots crunched loudly on the dirt and gravel of the driveway. Tim's legs stuck out from under the side of the truck, and Landry sat next to the toolbox, once again reading from the Malleus Malificarum, or as Tim had called it last night as he did a set of shoulder curls, "Witches for Dummies". (Bobby was right, Tim liked to wind Landry up.)

"Hey, Lando, want to hand me that 5/8 wrench?" came Tim's slow drawl.

"I'm not Landry, but I'll hand it to you," Sam said.

Pause. "Thanks."

Sam crouched and passed the wrench into the waiting hand.

A few minutes later Tim swore and then crawled out from underneath. "The more I look at it, the more I'm certain the gasket's bad. I thought maybe things had come a little loose -- that would explain some of the leaking I'm seeing, but nope, those bolts are on there, mother tight." He scratched idly at his hair through ball cap. "And since we're going to have to pull the engine to fix it and that means stripping everything else out of the compartment down to the block, want to help me pull the radiator so we can ream the crap out of it?"

Sam smiled, "Can do."

Turns out, they made a pretty good team despite the fact that automotive repair was not Sam's strength. "So," Sam asked when they took a break on the porch about two hours later with a couple of Cokes, while the radiator, battery, and alternator rested on a worktable "how'd two kids like you get into Hunting?"

"Dumb fucking luck," Tim replied darkly. "For me, it all began with finding a watch and putting it in my pocket."

"It really begins with me," Landry said, his voice a little raspy from reading. "So, last year, on a cold, shitty, rainy night, I'm supposed to meet Tyra --"

"My ex-girlfriend," Tim interjected.

"-- And help her study for her algebra test. Only my piece of shit car wouldn't start and my parents were at the football game, so I couldn't borrow theirs. So, Tyra got tired of waiting for me, thought I had blown her off, and left the restaurant for her truck and this creep jumped her, tried to rape her. She fought him off, and," Landry drew in a deep breath. "I got there about five minutes too late. Story of my damn life.

"I made her go down to the police station and file a report. And ... nothing for about nine months. And then -- and then --" Landry's breath grew shuddery.

"He came back," Tim said, voice stony.

"Started stalking Tyra," Landry continued, somewhat calmer. "So, about two and a half months ago, Tyra called me because she's scared, thinks there's an intruder in her yard, and I came over and all I found was a skunk in the bushes, so we started watching a movie and she said she wants to go on a munchies run, so we got in my car and went.

"Her family was persona non grata at the country market we ended up at, so I went in and he jumped her in the parking lot, tried to drag her into his car; I tried to pull him off and he threw me off, and I reached back and my hand closed around something and I came up swinging with it.

"It was a piece of pipe -- cast iron, not PVC -- and I cracked him hard," Landry touched the back of his head where skull joined spine "right there."

Sam's eyes widened. Because Tim looked like the kind of guy who should be telling this story, not clean-cut brainiac Landry.

"And then we panicked and did something really stupid." Landry gave a heavy sigh. "Because that bastard died about five seconds after he hit the ground, instead of running into the store and telling them to call 911, or even driving to the hospital with his body, we drove out to the bridge on County Route 9 and pitched him into the river." Landry drew a deep, shaky breath.

"It wouldn't have made a lick of difference, Landry," Tim said. "Not for what happened later."

"It would have, Tim," Landry said, tears in his voice, "because if we had never put him in my car, you'd never have been brought into it. You'd still -- and Coach would -- _the whole thing_ never would've --"

Tim shook his head. "Done is done, Landry. Like Billy always says, 'Wish in one hand and shit in the other, and see which one fills first.' Besides," Tim snorted bitterly, "my life in Dillon was going nowhere fast, so really, I've just stepped sideways." He paused and smiled wryly. "Though I am dying for a beer right now."

A long silence followed.

Tim spoke again. "So, like I said, for me, it began with finding a watch.

"My best friend, Jason, he broke his neck last year in the season opener, and then he got it into his head to go down to Mexico and have this experimental surgery thing with shark stem cells --"

Sam couldn't restrain a snort of laughter when he heard that.

"Yeah, I know, sounds like something out of The Twilight Zone. So, I went down with him. He needed somebody to watch his back, and I figured, a week in Mexico with Jay --"

"Only, you kinda sorta didn't bother to tell anybody where you were going or what you were up to," Landry cut in.

"They'd just've said no. Better to ask forgiveness than permission. Anyway, so we went, and I realized that Jason really meant to do this and even after it was pretty clearly a rip-off, and I called our ... friend ... Lyla --"

Landry snorted at the mention of her name.

"Shut up, Landry. Not a word about Lyla. _Not a word_." Tim's voice bristled with menace. He shook himself and went on, "And Lyla and I eventually ended up convincing Jason that it was stupid and we returned home. And the first thing Coach Taylor did was kick me off the team when I showed up for practice that afternoon. And, well, my brother, Billy, was wicked pissed at me, too. He'd been worried sick; I guess I didn't think he actually cared, because we'd been fighting before that on account of him ...never mind, it's not important ... so Billy kicked me out. And Jason's parents sure as hell weren't going to take me in. They somehow blamed it all on me, and I'm the one who saved Jay's fucking life." Tim guzzled at his coke and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "And I was on both of Lyla's parents' shitlists for ... well, I was on their shitlists and they weren't going to let me stay until Billy and me worked things out. Also, I spent most of the summer being a drunk asshole more or less, and Tyra was pissed at me and told me to leave as soon as I showed up on her doorstep."

"Serves you right," Landry said.

"Yeah. Yeah, it does," Tim agreed wearily. "So I went and knocked on the only other door I could think of. Coach's. And I told him and his wife, Tami, that I had nowhere else to go. They --" Tim's voice crackled with emotion, "took me in. And after I got done telling them what had really happened in Mexico, how Jay was so fucked up and even tried to kill himself at one point, Coach said I could get back on the team as soon as I got my grades right. But until then, I couldn't even show up to practice. Athletic conference rules.

"So school was over for the day and Jason and I decided, what the hell, let's go fishing off the bridge for old time's sake. We used to do it as kids and I stopped by my house, saw that Billy wasn't in, slipped in the back door, borrowed a six pack and the tackle box and off we went. And we're on the bridge, lines in the water, when Jason dropped the damn bottle opener --"

"Jason's a quadriplegic, doesn't have full use of his hands," Landry explained.

"Yeah, so, the thing is, the bottle opener was attached to my key chain, and neither of us heard it splash in the river, so unless we found it, we were going to have a hell of a long walk home. That, or I was going to learn to hotwire a car on the spot. So I started looking around and see that it's fallen through a place where the blacktop crumbled away and you can see into the underpinnings of the bridge. My keys are hung up on a bit of rebar. And next to it, and down a few inches, resting on a girder, I see a watch. So, I snagged them both and noticed that the watch had Landry's name engraved on the back, so I put it in my jeans so that I could give it to Landry the next day.

Tim took a long, shuddering breath as he looked up, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "And that is how I brought the ghost of a serial rapist into a house with three women in it."


	2. Chapter 2

Nobody said anything for several moments. Bobby's voice through the screen door finally broke the silence. "It was the blood in the links of the band, probably some of his hairs, too. That watch came off of Landry's arm when he and Tyra pitched that body in the river. There was blood in Landry's car, too -- he cleaned his car, of course, but traces always remain, worked down into the stitching and the seams of the upholstery."

Sam nodded. Some poltergeists were so evil and so powerful that even the tiniest trace of their flesh and blood was sufficient for manifestation.

"But we haven't even gotten to the really fun part of it all," Landry said in a thin, papery whisper. He cleared his throat and continued, "My father's the county sheriff. So guess who was investigating the murder of that John Doe fished out of the river?"

"Fuck," Sam breathed.

"And," Landry said in a voice full of false cheer, "because I did the right thing, made Tyra file a police report, and she ID'd a photo of him as the guy who attacked her -- she'd given such a good description of what he looked like, the sketch was almost a perfect match, so she couldn't lie or say it wasn't the same guy -- she was now a person of interest. And I had started dating her about the time he would have died, so my dad was on this like white on rice. He didn't know exactly how, but he knew I was mixed up in it somehow." He groaned and ran his hands through his hair.

Tim spoke up: "In the meantime, I went back to Coach and Tami's house, and got so wound up in catching up on stuff that I forgot about the watch in my jeans and put them in my dirty clothes pile. Nothing happened for a day two, but I guess that's all it took for that bastard to get oriented or something. Because two days later, I'm sitting downstairs with Gracie, Coach and Tami's newborn baby, sleeping in my arms -- she liked me for some reason, everybody else had a hard time getting her to sleep -- and watching game tapes with Coach when Julie, Coach's 16-year-old daughter, comes screaming down the hall that I'm peeping in on her in the shower. Only, Coach knows that I've been with him for the last 90 minutes. So there's no way it could have been me." Tim swallowed hard. "It got worse. It ..." his voice choked off before he could get the next words out.

"It even attacked the baby," Landry finished. "It was also causing a lot of problems for female employees down at the morgue. There weren't that many, but there were a few."

Bobby cleared his throat. "I was down in Texas buying a rare book when the news of strange happenings down in Dillon's morgue started coming through some of the channels I monitor. That's how I happened to be on the road into Dillon."

"It started to attack me in my car, but it was an old hoopty, so I just thought it was my car being weird," Landry said. "It wasn't until the time I had to take my buddy Matt and his grandma to the store that I started to figure out that something unnatural was going on, because it started groping her. She was in hysterics by the time we got the car pulled over and she jumped out and threw a kicking and screaming fit when we tried to get her back in. Matt eventually had to call a taxi. She's going senile, so it was easy to think it was just her having one of her fits, but something about it was just off enough ....

"And, other things were weird. I overheard Coach mentioning some things that happened in his house, that there was a peeping tom hanging out, spying on Tami and Julie and somehow Gracie got tangled in her blankets and almost died --"

"Tangled my ass," Tim hissed. "It put that blanket in a knot around her neck. I saw it happen."

"And I started researching and ... as strange as it all sounded, I knew it had to be a poltergeist. So, I tried talking to Julie, but she was way too freaked to even admit it was a possibility. But Tim overheard me and believed me and told me about all the things that were going on, like it opening the bathroom door any time that Julie was showering."

"Or if she was getting dressed in her bedroom. Fucker was trying to get me in trouble," Tim explained. "Kept doing it whenever I was near. And except for the fact that a few times my arms were so full of stuff that there was no way I could've opened the door, I would've been in deep shit."

"And then, it tried to burn me in my car," Landry said. "I was taking Matt home from work at 10 at night and _foom!_ Which, on the one hand, helped because my dad mentioned that they got fibers off the corpse and now my car was gone, but Matt and I would have died if our teammate Bradley hadn't happened to be right behind us. He smashed out the windows with a tire iron and got us out of there and gave the statement that my old station wagon just burst into flames at the stoplight," he finished in a shaky voice.

"It got bolder over at Coach's house. What really did it is, it full on assaulted Tami, in front of everybody, in the kitchen. She went to the fridge to pour herself a glass of wine to have with the chili that Coach and I made, and it grabbed her hair and was hauling on it something fierce. It - it -- _you could see that something had a hold of her hair_ \-- that it wasn't a stiff breeze from the AC or static electricity. I jumped the kitchen island and I could feel something so cold as I passed through it, and I remembered from movies that salt gets rid of ghosts, so I grabbed the salt shaker from the spice rack and a knife from the knife block and --" Tim laughed mirthlessly, "I must have looked like a fucking idiot, shaking salt at Tami, knife in my other hand, but it made this horrible screeching noise when the salt hit it.

"And ... I thought my family was all about denial, but Coach and Tami and Julie were all trying to find ways to explain how this had to be something else, that me shaking salt on it wasn't the reason that it let Tami go, like there was a logical, ordinary explanation for how thin air grabs you and tries to drag you out of the room by your hair.

"As soon as I could, I called Landry and told him what just happened. He told me we had to salt and burn the body to really stop this thing. So, we figured the only way we could even remotely have a chance of doing that was to wait one more day until Friday night -- most everybody would be at the football game, and Landry would stay home faking sick. We figured we'd make a diversion by torching that bastard's car in the impound lot -- using a little salt, too, just to make sure -- and then find a way to sneak into the morgue while everybody was distracted.

"Only, I was a complete fucking idiot and brought the watch with me instead of just leaving it somewhere outside the house, or in my old bedroom or something. We figured it was the watch somehow -- because I remembered I had it when I called Landry, and he filled me in on what had happened with the guy -- so I was just thinking about getting it out of Coach's house before it did any more harm, so I put it in my pocket to give to Landry before I forgot again."

"Which means that fucker was fighting us, every step of the way. But in little ways, so that we didn't catch on until it was too late. We thought as soon as we burnt his body, the bad mojo would be gone."

Bobby laughed ruefully and said, "They had the body salted when the fire alarm went off and the sprinklers went on."

Landry spoke, "At which point we did about the only thing we could -- picked up the body, ran out the door, pitched it in the bed of Tim's truck, and put the pedal to the metal, and then --"

"It took over the driving and wrapped us around a tree at 70 miles an hour as soon as it found one it thought could do the trick." Tim's voice shook slightly and he closed his eyes against the memory.

"And aren't you glad I made you wear your seatbelt?" Landry crossed his arms and lifted an eyebrow.

"It was pure dumb luck that I happened to be right behind them and could see something really strange about the way this truck was driving." Bobby took a deep breath. "And then it set the truck on fire and manifested. Yeah, it was fading fast, being that they had salted it good, but it was going to take Tim and Landry with it. 'Couple rounds of rock salt and I was able to haul them out, but a description of Tim's truck and plates was all over the police scanner. I threw Tim and Landry in my car and very calmly drove on down the road and checked into the nearest motel. Luckily, other than bumps and bruises, they were alright, but somehow it attacked again in the night, not very strong, and I had the damnedest time figuring out how, since I knew that body had been salted and burned."

"That's when we remembered the watch," Tim said.

"Salted and burnt it right there in a hotel ashtray," Landry said in glum voice. "It was a family heirloom."

"We're wanted now. And Landry's dad says he wants him tried as an adult if we're caught. I'm already 18, so I'm screwed." Tim shot Landry a wry look and murmured, "So much for 'Texas forever'."

"Welcome to the life," Sam said dryly, as the Impala rumbled back up the drive and parked in its usual place.

"How'd you end up a Hunter?" Landry asked as Dean silently walked toward them, hands in his pockets.

Dean answered, "Demon killed our mother when Sammy was a baby and I was four. Our dad spent the rest of his life trying to find and kill it." Pause. "It's the only life we've ever known."

"Did he?" Tim asked.

"No," Dean said with a nasty smile, "but _we_ did."

"After it took our dad," Sam added quietly.

They rolled out the next morning just after sunrise. Landry slipped him a letter and asked him to mail it when they got a few states away. Tim just stood next to the truck, arms crossed, a resigned expression on face as they rolled by.

When he looked back one last time, he saw Tim gesture at the book in Landry's hand, as he reached into the tool chest. Sam smiled to himself as he wondered what Tim had called the Malleus this time.

~oo(0)oo~

Two weeks later, Sam got a call from Bobby, asking for a favor. "Seems the girl who started it all, the law's been leaning on her and her family pretty hard, and she's hightailed it out of town. Only she's only got a vague idea of where we are. Landry's been careful enough to not give her anything real specific. Her truck's broken down in Nebraska and she doesn't have enough money to fix it. You near enough to pick her up?"

Sam thought about it a moment. "Let me ask Dean. I'll call you back."

Actually, Sam knew the answer to that one already. They didn't have a line on anything major, and Sam had no fresh leads on the demon who held the lien on Dean's soul, so they might as well pick up this girl and head back to Bobby's. At least he had a well-stocked library.

Dean knew full well why he wanted to head back to Bobby's, but they had argued this point so many times, Dean hardly bothered to raise a fuss. It was just one of those things now -- almost an "agree to disagree". _Almost._ The days passed in silence between them, neither of them saying a word that wasn't necessary, and at least this Tyra Colette might be good to talk to -- Sam had no doubt she was pretty. Guys like Tim didn't have just any kind of girl as an ex.

He called Bobby back. "Yeah, we can pick her up -- we're about a day's drive away."

"I don't think she's being tailed, according to Landry, she just up and run. Drove her truck to an away game and when everybody was clearing out of the parking lot afterwards she just turned the other way and kept driving."

Sam nodded at that. Not a bad plan, actually. "So, how are the dynamic duo?"

"Driving me batshit insane. When they're not eating me out of house and home, I'm trying to find clothes that fit, what with winter coming on." Bobby sighed into the receiver. "Obviously, I'm not sending them to school right now. Maybe when spring starts we'll see. Tim's actually miffed about missing football and Landry's all upset that he's falling behind -- as if he's still going to go to college."

Sam chortled. "Bobby, I ended up in college."

"I know, I know. It's just that I have to keep them cooped up here and they understand why, but it doesn't change the fact that we're all going stir crazy. When he's not trying to catalog my library into Dewey Decimal, Landry's trying to invent new magic, which, God love him, is a very good way to get yourself killed, because we don't really have a safe way to test a lot of his theories, except in the field.

"Tim's ... something's riding him fierce. I almost think it might be homesickness, but he's pretty closed mouthed about the particulars. Landry says that while Tim slept with every girl who'd say yes, he only had one or two close friends and that he's probably missing them a lot right now. And here I thought Landry was going to be the one who wouldn't handle it as well, but ....

"Tim's got your dad's truck fixed and running beautifully, but of course, he can't drive it anywhere until I get all the right papers for it and him. I'm trying to teach him and Landry the ABCs of fighting and Hunting, and he's learning it well, but some days he's just going through the motions and he's tetchy as fuck. He knows not to cause trouble with me, but it's like there's a permanent storm cloud over his head. I'm hoping you and Dean might be able to stay for a week or two and show him a few things about fighting and laying traps. Get him ready for a run out in the field, because I think that's what he needs right now. I hate to throw him in so early, but I can't think of what else to do."

~oo(0)oo~

Sam thought he was going to be sick when he saw "The blonde in the red and white striped sweater."

Dean turned even whiter than he did, if possible, and then his mouth set in a hard, tight line. "I say we grab her and pitch her in the trunk," he growled, tapping his thumbs against the steering wheel.

"And if she's not?" Sam hissed. "If it's just a fucked up coincidence? Look, you go in and talk to her and get her to come out. I'll have the trunk popped for her bag, you bring her by, I'll splash her with some holy water and if she burns we slam her in and get the hell out of Dodge."

~oo(0)oo~

Other than looks, Tyra Colette didn't have much in common with Jessica. Okay, they were both smart and strong willed, but Jessica had been a nice girl from a middle class family. Tyra's whole manner of being, like Tim's, spoke of a certain kind of hardness, a brittleness, a life spent living one step ahead of disaster. She would've fit right in waiting tables at Harvelle's Roadhouse.

She was the kind of girl that Sam figured that Dean might one day meet and end up with.

Knowing that she had dated Tim came as no surprise. He was that kind of guy

But Landry? How did a guy like that end up with a girl like Tyra? Sam found it hard to fathom.

And he did try to fathom it, because it kept other memories at bay.

They drove 18 hours straight on through to Bobby's, Sam and Dean driving in shifts, stopping the car only get gas, pee, and grab a fresh big gulp and a bag of pretzels. Tyra didn't speak much. Mostly sat with her legs tucked up under her chin, silently watching the autumn landscape roll by.

Of course, the one time that Sam did manage to doze off, he had nightmares about that night -- Jessica surrounded in flames -- and woke up shouting and panicked. He flinched when she put a hand on his shoulder and asked if he was okay.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he gasped, shuddering at her touch.

"We'll explain when we get there," Dean said in a tone of voice that made it clear to Tyra that further questions were not welcome.

Her mouth pressed into a tight line of bafflement and hurt as she tucked her chin on top of her knees and fixed her gaze firmly outside the car.

~oo(0)oo~

Landry and Tim waited in the drive for Tyra. No sooner than Sam stopped the car than Tyra flew out the door and into Landry's arms, hitting him with such force that he staggered back and the two of them would have fallen down had Tim not caught them. The three of them had a good laugh about that, and then Tyra hugged Tim and he kissed her gently on the forehead then stepped back, smiling, happy to see her, but ... well, Sam didn't think Landry was going to have any worries in that department. Whatever fire these two had once had burnt out; Tyra went immediately back to Landry's arms. After a few minutes the three of them paired off and wandered into the house to start getting caught up. Tim and Landry were hungry for news of those they had to leave behind in Dillon, and they peppered Tyra with questions as they led her up the steps.

But the most interesting reaction came from Bobby, who almost seemed a little tongue tangled and flustered that a girl like Tyra would be living under his roof. It lasted until Sam found a moment to pull him aside and into a quick conversation with Dean.

"That is mighty odd," he agreed upon seeing a picture of Sam and Jessica. "I'll bring them all into the kitchen, offer her a beer or something."

"Tim not drink all of your private reserve yet?" Sam asked.

Dean shot him a look. "How can you even joke at a moment like this?"

Sam shot it back at him. "Because I don't think -- because I'd rather laugh than cry right now. Because we've already poured a little holy water on her."

"Hush it, both of you," Bobby said, "They're done with the tour of the house. We'll cook a big dinner, bust out the beer, and take it from there."

Tim came into the kitchen a few minutes later, held out the keys and said, "Do either of you want to take a ride in your dad's truck?"

Well no, not really, not after all that time they'd just spent in the Impala, but that look of hopefulness and shy pride in Tim's eyes made Sam say, "Sure, why not?" Dean opted to take a nap, on account of the fact that he'd done most of the driving.

They couldn't take the truck on the road due to expired tags on an out-of-state plate being a State Trooper magnet, but Bobby owned a very large lot, and once they got out of the areas devoted to the auto recycling business, there were some dirt roads that went out a ways into rolling wooded hills.

Tim hadn't lied when he said he and Landry would fix the truck up good. It wasn't as glossy and showy as the Impala, it being a much more utilitarian vehicle, but even the interior showed signs of being gutted, cleaned, and repaired where possible. The engine and transmission purred, and Sam noticed a little extra oomph when he gassed it. He gave Tim an inquiring look.

Tim gave him that quirky half-smile that Sam had come to recognize as uniquely his and replied, "Four barrel carb." Then. "Bobby says he's going to take us hunting soon."

"Really? Did he say what? Poltergeist, vamps ...?" Sam's voice trailed off as he tried to think what "easy" thing you'd use to train novice Hunters. Because as Tim and Landry knew first hand, even a "mere" poltergeist could be incredibly dangerous.

Tim shook his head. "No, not Hunting. Like for deer and ducks and stuff, regular hunting."

"Oh!" Sam laughed at himself. "Yeah. Bobby used to take me and Dean hunting back in the day. I kind of expect it was when our Dad was taking on something really intense, or just needed us out of his hair for a week or two. Or maybe Bobby was just trying to give us an idea of the kind of things normal people did. Or," Sam chuckled, "maybe he just wanted two more good shots stocking his smokehouse."

"Yeah, he's been talking about venison. It's pretty good, too, when he makes stew."

"Some of my happiest memories, really." Sam smiled. "You ever go hunting?"

Tim shook his head. "My dad took me fishing a few times when I was young, but not hunting."

"You miss him?"

"Who? My dad?" Tim asked in a tone of disbelief.

Okay, it was kind of a stupid question, but .... "Yeah."

Tim's eyes flamed with rage, it sudden intensity shocked Sam. "My dad's a drunk asshole, Sam," he hissed, voice dripping with venom. "Not like yours."

My dad had his moments of being a drunk asshole, too, Sam thought, but didn't say anything.

The truck crested a small hill before Tim spoke again. "Tyra says that you and Dean treated her really weird."

Sam blew out a long, shuddery breath, put the truck in neutral and pulled the brake. "It's complicated. It's ...." He lifted up and fished his wallet out of his jeans, pulling out an old, now somewhat creased and worn picture of him and Jessica. "Here." He handed it over.

Tim's eyes widened and his mouth worked silently for a moment or two before he said, "Oh." He handed the picture back.

"She was my fiancée. Her name was Jessica."

And then he told Tim the whole fucked up story of how Jessica died, how he used to have psychic gifts, how his father had traded his life for Dean's, Azazel's plans for an army, how Dean had traded his soul at the crossroads, The Roadhouse, The Colt, The Gates of Hell, killing Azazel, killing the Crossroads Demon, all of it. Well, _almost_ all of it.

(There were some things Sam just didn't share. Even with himself.)

"Pretty incredibly fucked up, isn't it?"

Tim nodded solemnly. "But ... at least ... you and Dean and your Dad ... there's love there." Pause. "There's love there," Tim repeated wistfully, looking out the window.

Sam didn't ask Tim if he wanted to talk about it, he either would -- when he found the right moment -- or he wouldn't. Sam just put the truck back into gear and said, "Yeah, you're right about that." There was love there, a lot of love there, which was why even the thought of losing Dean hurt so very much.

~oo(0)oo~

As soon as they got back to Bobby's house, Tim pulled Tyra aside and spoke quietly to her for a few moments. Then the two of them came over to Sam.

"I, uh, Tim says I look like your dead fiancée." Tyra murmured. Her voice was almost like Jess's, but slightly husky, and a hint of a Texas twang to boot.

Sam fished out his wallet again and handed over the picture.

Tyra's blue eyes widened. "Oh my!" she exclaimed as she sat down rather suddenly next to him on the couch. "I thought he meant 'look something like' -- not that I was a ringer." She chewed her bottom lip for a moment. "I'm sorry."

Sam smiled rather weakly at her.

"Um ... how did she die?"

"She was murdered by a demon," Dean said as he slouched against the doorjamb. At Tyra's somewhat incredulous look, he continued. "Demons, ghosts, werewolves, changelings ... all those things that go bump in the night? They're real."

She swallowed hard and nodded gravely. "I - I guess I have to believe you when you say that. I mean, considering .... It's just strange to think it is all."

Dean laughed, not unkindly. "Welcome to the life, girl, 'cause want to or not, you're in it now." He turned and headed into the kitchen.

~oo(0)oo~

Bobby outdid himself for dinner that evening. Nothing fancy, just classic American working man fare, but good nonetheless. Chicken fried steak with red-eye gravy (or grape jelly for those that swung that way), homemade mac and cheese, chard, piccalilli, and the peach cobbler on the rack would be just cool enough to eat with a scoop or two of vanilla ice cream by the time they were ready for it. Landry's stomach rumbled audibly as they all squeezed in around the kitchen table which made everybody laugh.

"Jesus, Bobby," Dean all but moaned around a bit of steak smothered in both gravy and jelly, "If I could eat like this for the rest of my life, I would die a happy man."

The food turned to ashes in Sam's mouth, but he dutifully chewed away. A quick glance from Dean showed that he hadn't meant to say that and that he felt a bit bad, but it still didn't stop him from shoveling it all in with gusto.

The mood at the table shifted when Tyra's response to Tim's question about one of the football players was met with, "I just don't get you sometimes, Tim. You ask me about Jason and Lyla, about Coach and his family, about my mom and my sister, about Smash and Matt even, but you haven't asked me a damn thing about Billy." Her fork slammed to the plate angrily.

Tim chugged his milk, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and replied, "'Cause that's because I know how he is."

"Really?" Tyra replied in a tone somewhere around 40 below zero.

"Really," Tim shot back. "He's fine now that I'm not there to give him any grief about banging Jackie. I'll bet it took him all of a day to pack his bags and move in with her. What else?" He started counting on his fingers. "Oh, no need to pay on dad's mortgage, because he doesn't need to put a roof over my head anymore. There's $900 in his pocket each month right there. And then there's groceries and insurance and .... he's a free man now. The ball and chain is gone from around his ankle. I sincerely hope he's hitting the links." He shoveled a huge bite of mac and cheese in to his mouth to emphasize his point.

"He worried himself sick over you, Tim," Tyra hissed, eyes glassy with rage.

Tim snorted. "Brown bottle flu doesn't count."

"No, you shitwit, an _ulcer_. He landed himself in the emergency room."

Tim leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a mule stubborn expression on his face. "He's got Jackie to take care of him now. He kicked me out of the house, Tyra. He --" Tim's voice broke, "didn't want me any more. He took Jackie away from me and kicked me out."

"You never had Jackie, Tim!" Tyra shouted at him. "She wasn't --!" Tyra groaned and knotted her hands in her hair. "He went down to Corpus Christi looking for you! He thought you might have run there."

Sam thought Tim was going to sick up at the table, he turned such a ghastly shade. "Dad?" he whispered. "He went to Dad to try and find me?"

An awful pause hung over the table.

"Excuse me," Tim murmured as he pushed his chair back before he bolted from the house.

After a few minutes of tense silence, Bobby said, "Do you mind filling me in on that?"

Tyra set her fork down, put her head in her hands and recounted one of the most fucked up and sad stories that Sam had ever heard.

"Daaaamn," Dean said softly when she finished.

Tyra blotted at her eyes with the paper towel that Landry handed her. "So, you see, Tim's got issues. And he must have completely misunderstood -- well, kicking him out was about the stupidest thing Billy could've done, considering. But Billy's got a temper, and Tim's got a way of pushing people's buttons." Her lip quivered and she blinked back tears as Landry reached over and gently took her hand in his.

Sam took a long swig from his bottle. John Winchester had done a lot of questionable things in the name of his quest for vengeance. And the only person who had ever made Sam madder was Dean. But he had never truly doubted that either of them loved him.

Yeah, Dean had always been the favored son and the good soldier and he had been the snot nose tyke and then the academic weirdo who questioned everything and didn't want to fall in line.

But Tim had been absolutely right when he had said that there was love there, because based on what Tyra had just said, he certainly knew what things looked like when love wasn't there.

~oo(0)oo~

Tim wandered back in about two hours later when they were discussing sleeping arrangements. Bobby wanted to give his room up to Tyra and sleep with Sam and Dean in the front room. And he wasn't taking no for an answer.

Tim looked at him for a moment, put his hands on his hips and said, "Don't be an idiot, Bobby. You're taking in the three of us, who have no ties to you, and you're feeding us, and putting clothes on our backs, and teaching us, and keeping us safe. The least we can do is let you sleep in your own damn bed." Bobby started to protest but Tim held up his hand. "I'm not asking you, I'm telling you, and think I speak for all of us on that matter. I'll drag you back down that hall, Bobby. Don't think I won't."

Bobby grumbled a bit more, but in the end he gave in and headed off to bed.

Tim sank down on the couch, looked up at them and said, "Something about Bobby says 'I snore fit to raise the dead.'"

"And you would be absifragginlutely right," Dean said when they all finished laughing. "Jesus, the stories Sam and I could tell."

Landry, however, stubbornly insisted on playing the gentleman, giving Tyra his bed (and the rest of the guest room) and bunking down on the hard, chilly floor with the rest of them. About 10 minutes after the light went out under the bedroom door, Tim said, "Landry, get up and go to her."

"I - I can't, Tim. It ... wouldn't be right. We're -- this is not .... It's just not the right time."

Pause.

"Landry, if you don't get up in the next five seconds and head for that bedroom, I will."

Landry didn't need to be told twice.

"That's cold, man," Dean said as soon as the door shut, but his voice held a hint of amusement.

Tim sighed. "Actually, I was just planning on climbing in my own bed, but --"

"Landry doesn't know that," Sam said, snickering.

"Exactly." Sam could all but see the smug look on Tim's face.

"Dude," Dean said, "how can you not want to tap that?"

Tim laughed. "Believe me, I do. But her and me, really, we're better as friends." He snorted in amusement. "For like the first month after we broke up for reals, she worked the fact that we would not be having sex into just about every conversation we had."

Sam said, "Okay, but how can you be okay with Landry and your ex, but not okay with your brother and your other ex?"

Tim rolled onto his back and sighed heavily. "Because ... Tyra and me? We were never in love with each other. We spent all of our time together being in love with other people ... almost like we were waiting for something to happen, for the people we wanted to free up.

"Jackie was ... I met her when she knocked on my door to bitch us out the night we had a major-rager party to celebrate going to State. And all I could think was that she looked so cute when she was all wound up. We got together for about two weeks and I was completely faithful to her and everything ... and out of the blue, right before State, she dumped me. So, I stayed friends with her because I thought I'd try again when I was a little older. That maybe she'd see what I had to offer her and her kid, that maybe she could get over the age difference thing and not just see me as a kid."

"Wait," Sam asked, "age difference?"

"She was 32, I was 17."

Oh.

"Damn, you go for cougars?" Dean asked.

Tim snorted. "No. I just liked her. A lot. She was ... different." And then he gave a huffy sigh and rolled back over, turning away. Sam took that as a sign to not ask any more questions.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam woke some time in the middle of the night. He and Dean were back to back and Tim had rolled again and was facing him and ... Sam swallowed hard, because, dear God, bathed in moonlight, Tim was just so beautiful with his finely drawn, almost delicate face ~~(like Dean's)~~ that looked like something out of painting by the pre-Raphaelites , and that lead to thoughts about his body (like Michelangelo's David come to life), his eyes (so like a cat's), and his mouth .... God, his mouth, soft and full, almost like ~~(like Dean's)~~ a girl's. Sam's gaze lingered on that mouth, mapped the contours of light and shadow. He sighed inwardly when Tim's lips parted slightly ... and let his eyes drift back up Tim's face, up towards those thick black lashes, dark smudges against --

(Oh Crap.)

Tim had woken up at some point and had been watching him for ... long enough. Sam felt his face flame. Busted. So busted. "Um ...."

That strange half-smile flashed across Tim's mouth. He licked his bottom lip, then murmured, "So, guys too."

No point in lying. "Yes. Some. Um ... you?"

"The right guys, yeah." Tim's eyes glowed like molten honey.

_Ohgod._

And then he kissed Sam. Soft. The merest brushing of lips against lips. "Yeah?" he breathed.

"Yeah," Sam whispered and kissed him back.

"Not here," Tim murmured against his lips. "Follow me." Cat quick and cat quiet he rolled out of his blankets and stood in the chilly night air, tiptoeing towards ... the kitchen?

Sam missed the warmth of the blankets almost as soon as he stood, but he padded into the kitchen after Tim, who crooked a finger at him to follow and headed into the laundry room.

It was dark and downright frigid, and Tim felt so hot and so right jittering and shivering against him as he closed the door behind them. "I thought maybe the bathroom, but people go to the bathroom in the middle of the night," Tim's voice had a low, velvety tone.

Sam chuckled back. "Yeah, I don't see Bobby waking up in the middle of the night to do a load of whites."

"Well, so long as we don't accidentally turn the fucking things on, we'll be fine."

It wasn't pretty. Actually, it wasn't like anything Sam had ever done before -- having sex in pitch black darkness. No sight, just touch and smell and sound, and a strange body that he could only grope for. After several false starts and near misses, his mouth ended up banging against Tim's so hard that their teeth clinked, and despite the pain, they laughed for several seconds, then sought each other out again, fingers groping until they got lined up, and then their mouths meshed properly, wet, hot, hungry. Then it became hands under the backs of shirts -- it was too cold to think of taking them off, Sam was gooseflesh any place he didn't have the furnace-like heat of Tim's body pressed against him -- exploring, grasping, touching, until Tim hooked his hands in the waistband of Sam's boxers and pushed and Sam didn't waste a second in sending Tim's shorts to his ankles, then clenched his hands on Tim's hips and hauled him in, both of them groaning as dick brushed up against dick.

They gave themselves over to it, thrusting and grinding their way towards release. (sogood sogood sogood) It didn't take long. The first scalding splash of Tim's come soaked Sam's belly a split second before he returned the favor.

"Been awhile?" Sam asked when the worst of the jelly legs passed.

"Yeah," Tim gasped against his collar bone. "Too long. _Way_ too long."

They stood there, Tim pressed against the washer, Sam slumped against him, breathing hard, until the cold became too much for their sweat damp bodies.

"You're hot, and I know I should want to some more, but man, I am freezing my nuts off," Tim hissed on the edge of chattering teeth as he fumbled the dryer open, pulled out something and wiped at himself with it, before folding it over and handing it to Sam, who cleaned the worst of the stickiness off himself and eventually deposited it in the washer.

"Yeah, I've got some serious shrinkage going on, too."

Tim snickered at that and then opened the door and tiptoed across the kitchen and then down the hall to the bathroom. Sam just headed straight back to his blankets.

At least they weren't totally cold. Dean had kept them half warm.

He was asleep before Tim came back from the bathroom.

~oo(0)oo~

Tim was not a morning person -- just like Dean. Part of Sam laughed when Tim and Dean sat up almost simultaneously, hair sleep snarled, then rubbed the sleep from their eyes and blinked owlishly at the autumn sunlight leaking in through the curtains. Both of them turned nearly identical "drop dead and rot" glares at him when he stretched, arching toward the ceiling, making his spine crackle, and said in a too-bright voice, "Good morning!"

Dean mumbled something about Bobby's floor getting harder while Tim groused about wanting "the breakfast of champions" and what a bastard Bobby was to cut him down to two bottles a week and keep a daily count.

The mood shifted to outright hilarity when Landry wandered in from down the hall, smiling, wearing an inside-out T-shirt and a hickey. Tim fell back he laughed so hard. Sam tried to decide what made it so damn rich: the shirt, the hickey, the smile, or the fact that Landry had been so blissfully unaware of both the hickey and the state of his shirt.

"Alright, Lando! My boy has become a man!" Tim crowed as he put Landry in a headlock and gave him a noogie.

"Actually, Tim," Landry said, smoothing his hair down after Tim finally let him go (only after Landry pinched his ass hard enough to make him yelp) "That happened a few months back."

"Please tell me it in wasn't your old hoopty."

Landry blushed. "No, it wasn't my old hoopty. My bedroom. On a school night, with mom and dad just down the hall to boot." Pause. "And I managed to put my shirt on right side out the morning after, but it was the fundamental theorem of calculus shirt that I got for being a Mathlete, so I guess it was still completely nerdtacular."

~oo(0)oo~

After breakfast (Tyra clapped her hand over her mouth and laughed when she saw what she'd done to Landry, Bobby just gave a hmmn and a stern warning about no babies) Dean offered to do some training with Landry and Tim.

"Well, they're both pretty good shots, all the plinking I make them do, and Landry's filled out a bit now that he's lifting and running with Tim, but, I'm a touch limited when it comes to teaching them hand to hand. I mean, I got my own set of moves, but you know ...." Bobby shrugged.

They all went out and practiced shooting for about an hour. Sam was impressed with Tim and Landry's overall marksmanship, and Tyra wasn't half-bad (with dedicated practice she'd be good) but then Dean started putting them through drills designed to test both speed and accuracy and Landry faltered, doing worse than Tyra, who'd never even tried quick-draw shooting.

"'Cause you're thinking, Lando." Tim said the word 'thinking' as if it were a dirty word. "Don't think, just do. And when you do, you've got to have purpose."

Whereas Landry seemed a bit flustered and out of sorts, Sam saw Tim slipping more and more into his element.

And when it was time to try some actual fighting, Tim's grin just got huger and huger. His technique was rough, still too much football tackle -- not that there wasn't a time and a place for that -- but even Dean was impressed with Tim's speed and power. Even half-trained, Tim could do a lot of damage based on sheer physicality. He also yelled like a banshee whenever he attacked, which wasn't always a bad thing, except when a job called for stealth. Also, instead of getting surly when Sam and Dean put him down hard, or just quietly resigned like Landry, Tim rolled with it, laughing and grinning. And then he came back and tried twice as hard.

"You almost like this too much," Dean said when he called a halt to it all a little before lunch.

Tim flashed a rogue's grin. "It's one of the few things I'm absolutely sure I'm good at," he said. "Landry's all about the three Rs, but I'm more like the three Fs: fighting, football, and fucking." He caught Sam's eye just over Dean's shoulder as he said that last word.

Oh yeah, he still wanted to …. And Sam felt relieved at that, because he had worried about what Tim would be like the morning after. Would he know how to keep it on the down-low? In fact, Tim turned out to be so good at _that_ that Sam wondered if last night was a one-off deal. Then that blink-and-you'll-miss-it sparkle in Tim's eye told him that they'd be making more dirty laundry as soon as Dean fell asleep.

After lunch, Landry and Tyra hunkered down over (of all things) a trigonometry text book, and Dean asked Tim if he'd like to put in a little wrench time on a fine piece of old school Detroit metal, and Sam? Well, he could kiss Landry for having organized Bobby's library and even putting it all in database. MySQL, not Access, now that was hardcore, Sam noted with some amusement. He made a note to talk to Bobby about them. Landry and Tyra really should go back to school when the spring semester started. Tim on the other hand was nearly ready for a Hunt, and sending him back to school would probably just be a waste of everybody's time.

He went and selected several books he didn't even know Bobby had (okay, maybe not kiss Landry, not when there Tim to be had, but certainly a bear hug or three for his efforts) and headed for the porch to read and watch Dean and Tim.

The two of them had fallen into a rhythm, an outsider might think they had worked on that car together for years.

Sam smiled as Tim snarked back at Dean, making Dean throw back his head and laugh. Then he sighed and opened his book. The answer was out there somewhere, and Sam didn't give a shit what Dean said about accepting fate, he was going to find it.

~oo(0)oo~

After dinner (cooked by Tyra and Landry), Dean and Bobby went into the workshed to make more bullets for The Colt, while Tyra and Landry hunched over the kitchen table (math textbook in hand) pouring over a compass, sextant, level, and plum-bob. Tim came up to Sam, who was reading in Bobby's study and taking notes. He shuffled his feet a bit before he cleared his throat and said, "So, you and Dean clearing out in a few days?"

"Yeah, probably be gone most of the winter. Dean hates to get salt on the Impala."

Tim smiled. "He loves that car." Idly, he stroked his fingers along the edge of the desk, which made Sam shiver inside when he remembered how nimble they were.

"He should. He was born in it, you know."

"Really?"

"Yeah. For whatever reason, Dean was a really short labor. When I came along, they were in that car minutes after my mom's water broke. Not that I was born in a hospital bed. The nurse made one hell of a diving catch as my mom was trying to climb into bed."

Tim laughed at that and said, "So, um. Can you mail these for me?" He held out an envelope addressed in a messy scrawl. Sam raised his eyebrow when he saw the name. Tim blushed slightly. "Yeah, so I figure I better let Billy know that I'm okay and not to worry and that I'll look him up in 15 or so years when they can't arrest me any more."

Sam nodded.

Tim held out a postcard. "This too."

_Texas forever_ it said. Sam lifted an eyebrow.

"He'll understand what it means," Tim said cryptically. Then, "Wear something that buttons up in front to bed tonight. Flannel if you have it."

Sam almost blinked at the quick subject change, but, he was getting used to it. Tim lived in the here-and-now even more than Dean, if that was possible.

~oo(0)oo~

Button front flannel shirts to bed? Dean looked at them funny, but Tim said, "My blood is thin and it's the warmest thing I got."

Sam just shrugged, "I hate the cold. You know that."

Dean had muttered something about girlymen as he bundled up on the floor. But, he also used the flannel shirt as an excuse to steal one of Sam's blankets.

Not that Sam had minded too much, because it gave him an excuse to roll on his side and spoon ever so slightly into Tim.

Sex with Jess had been one thing -- okay, it had been fantastic and wonderful and everything Sam had ever wanted from a lover -- but some nights, when he came home at two in the morning after hours of cramming at the library, bone tired, crashing hard as he came off a quart of coffee and two Snickers bars, the act of spooning up to her ... it made everything right. Sam thought of an episode of Deadliest Catch he and Dean had happened to watch one night at a hotel in Kalispell. Dean laughed and said they were all insane, until he found out just how much money they were clearing for two weeks of work, and only after Sam pointed out what the storms and salt air might do to the Impala did Dean give up the idea of trying to get work on a boat. Sam, however, really identified with a guy about his age named Blake who was climbing into bed for the first time in days (having just eaten a big meal) and said that more than anything right now, he wanted somebody to spoon up with. And Sam so understood that -- wanting that warm, snuggly, all-is-right-with-the-world comfort of another body tucked into you as you drifted off.

Later, when he followed Tim into the dark and icy laundry room, Sam became very happy about the flannel shirts idea. True, it was drafty after they got everything unbuttoned, but they were warm enough and it was good to hold Tim for long moments and kiss his lush, _hot_ mouth and put hands everywhere without letting in any unnecessary cold air -- to make it last a little bit longer before they got down to business -- which in Sam's case began with him kissing a line down that ripped chest and the contours of Tim's abs (loving how they fluttered under his tongue as Tim gasped) before he reached into the fly of Tim's boxers.

Tim stopped him. "I don't have a condom."

Wow, Bobby really wasn't lying when he said that Tim was big on not taking chances. "It'll be okay," he whispered back into the darkness. "I really haven't been giving it up at every truck stop. Just warn me." Pause. "Why are you --"

"Because I caught a girl in the face once, and she read me the riot act about it. And also, another time, I got it on this other girl's sweater. It was this really soft, fluffy stuff, kinda nice, and I thought she was going to kill me, 'cause it was her mom's. Dry clean only. No worry, no mess -- it's what I'm used to."

Sam gently stroked his hand the length of Tim, making him twitch. "Well, that's not going to happen." Except maybe the catching in the face part. But not him. Tim. Because that bit about catching her in the face? It gave Sam a mental picture of Tim, naked, with ~~come on him~~ Sam's come on him and he liked that idea. He liked it a lot.

He got straight down to business and took Tim in his mouth, smiling on the inside when Tim stifled a groan and jerked, not entirely able to stop his hips from thrusting. Sam went all the way down after a few minutes spent learning what Tim liked, drinking in the smell of him, a mixture of muskiness and Bobby's beloved Irish Spring. Sam used every trick that had ever been done to him on Tim, teasing, tasting, stroking at the base with his hands while he snaked his tongue around the crown, until Tim's constant stream of groans and muffled obscenities took on a new pitch and Tim's hands frantically scrabbled at his hair.

Sam didn't get away in time ... not entirely. The first blast grazed his cheek and he had to laugh at that, given his fantasies.

"Sorry, I tried to warn you, I'm not used to having to ..." Tim whispered. Despite the pitch black, Sam could tell he was blushing.

"No harm no foul." He groped, opened the dryer, fished out a towel and wiped himself clean. "I don't have any in my hair, do I?"

"Looks good to me." Tim's hands groped at Sam before he got his bearings and started feeling his way down. He grasped Sam and stroked him back to full hardness before he said, "I've never done this before, so ..."

Sam's eyebrows rose, but he kept the surprise out of his voice. "Just mind the teeth."

And then Tim knelt and _ohgod_ his mouth was hot and perfect and he didn't say a thing or hesitate when Sam carded his hands into his hair. He closed his eyes, bit his lip, and let the wicked things Tim did with his hands and tongue wash over him.

And, he even gave Tim enough warning.

~oo(0)oo~

When it was over and they were buttoning up their shirts, Sam asked, "Tim, um, what do you wash your hair with?"

Tim snorted in amusement and said, "Soap." Pause. "Why?"

"Because it felt -- It explains a lot."

Tim sighed. "Yeah, I know, I know. But regular shampoo makes me itch. That soft soap stuff, too."

"I hear you. I couldn't have Flintstones chewable vitamins as a kid -- they gave me hives. Dean --" Sam's throat wanted to close shut at the memory, but he forced his voice to remain steady. "Dean rubbed calamine lotion all over me and read me Green Eggs and Ham."

"Does that shit work at all?"

"Never did much for me." Pause. "Did your brother ever draw shapes with it on you too?"

"Naw. Billy was never like that -- he's about 10 years older than me, so ... he was over that." Then. "I'm cold. Let's get back to bed."

Sam woke up sometime shortly before dawn when Dean poked him with his foot. He had spooned around Tim, who had snuggled deep into him.

"Jesus," Dean said, holding back laughter "you two are so brokeback."

Tim opened one bleary eye, flipped Dean the bird, muttered, "You're just jealous," pulled the blankets back over his head and promptly went back to sleep.

"What can I say, he's warm, and you stole my blanket," Sam whispered over his shoulder to Dean.

Dean rolled over and scooted in. "You're warm, too." He started to shuffle around quite a bit and Sam got a sneaking suspicion where this was going.

"You put your cold feet on my back, and I'll kill you."

Dean snickered. Busted.

~oo(0)oo~

Dean didn't say anything, just gave Sam a squirrely look when Sam said he'd like to take another drive in Dad's truck after breakfast for old times' sake and then asked Tim if he'd like to come along. Nobody else seemed to notice, and Tim did a good job of keeping a poker face ... unless you knew what to look for.

Not that fucking Tim in the truck was going to be roomier than the laundry room (actually, it was going to be a whole lot less roomy) but at least there would heat and they'd actually get to see what they were doing, instead of fumbling around in the dark.

When the cab hit the point of being toasty hot, Sam pulled into the next turn out and killed the engine. He realized about 10 seconds in that there were considerable technical challenges involved in turning his fantasy into reality what with Tim being a strapping fellow of 6'1" and his being a few inches taller still. It wasn't going to happen exactly the way he pictured it, but he had an idea of how to make it work. He pressed Tim back to half-lean against the passenger door, braced his forearm on the edge of the window behind Tim's head, leaned over him and (blushing furiously) whispered in Tim's ear what he wanted to do, ending it with, "... and when we're done with that, I'll blow you."

"Sounds good," Tim said in a husky tone as his hands went to work on Sam's pants, freeing Sam's aching cock first before he hiked his shirt up as far as it would go then undid his jeans and lifted his hips to shinny them down as far as they would go. He was hard and seeping and Sam's mouth flooded with saliva at the memory of the taste.

It was half Tim jerking him, half him fucking Tim's fist, and all of him glad about the lightning racing up and down his spine. His angle more or less meant looking down at their bodies, looking at his dick pistoning in and out of Tim's fist, looking at the place where that wiry thatch of hair began low in the v-shaped notch running from Tim's hips, hearing as much as feeling Tim's breath rasping in his ear because that was the most natural and comfortable way for them to hold their heads. It was so hot, so good, could only be better if he could see Tim's face, but still so intense that it took everything in Sam to keep his eyes open at that moment when it all boiled out of him in hard spurts and (_yesjustlikethat_) landed on Tim (_ohgodohgodohgod_) and Sam felt his body start to turn to jelly, but forced himself to not give in, not collapse, not even close his eyes for the briefest moment.

The angle was awkward, but he managed a quick kiss and a "thank you" in Tim's ear on his way down, as Tim, muttering something about getting that damn armrest out of his back, started to sit up more, but Sam's other hand stayed him for just a moment as he scooted back as far as the steering wheel would let him, bent at an incredibly uncomfortable angle, and licked that drum-tight belly clean -- causing Tim to make this short, sharp noise as the most wonderful set of flutters rolled across those muscles and his cock gave a huge spurt of pre-come -- before he allowed Tim to sit up more and swivel to the side so that Sam could lean over and swallow him down.

And Tim, unrestrained by the need to be quiet? Jesus wept, it was molten hot, the sheer range of noises he made -- from faint little gasps, to shuddery sighs, velvety purrs and finally some out-and-out growls, and when he gave that last, hitchy, "Oh Fuck! Sam!" as he tugged frantically in warning, Sam decided right then and there that Tim was coming Hunting with them -- Dean and whatever he might think when he found out be damned -- because this? He had to have it. And he wanted a hell of a lot more than fumbling in the darkness and playing twister in the truck.

Because there was just something so ... beautiful and oddly pure ... about Tim let loose, giving himself fully to the moment, and when Sam sat up, the shadows were gone from Tim's eyes. For once, Tim wasn't hiding anything, wasn't keeping a part of himself closed off, and what Sam saw there beggared his ability to find words to describe it. It coiled deep inside of him, meeting a need he never knew he had, one that would be stupid and useless to attempt to deny from here on out. It was no longer just about Tim being willing and available, not any more. It was about him being _Tim Riggins_, now that Sam had an understanding of what that meant.

Sam gently wiped Tim clean with a bandanna and they both sat in silence for long moments, until Tim leaned forward, crossed his arms on the dash, and rested his chin on them, the expression on his face slowly turning from open and radiant to far away and broody.

"Penny for your thoughts."

Tim's gaze flicked over for a moment, then went back to looking at nothing particular on the horizon. "You're leaving again," he finally muttered.

"Yeah."

"And I'm stuck here." He sighed heavily. "Waiting."

"Maybe, maybe not."

Tim didn't say anything, just turned his head sideways on his arms and looked at Sam, the expression in his eyes was flat, tightly shuttered. Almost like he was afraid to hope.

"I'll talk to Dean and Bobby, but I think you're ready for a Hunt." At the sudden flare of almost feral joy in Tim's eyes, Sam added, "Nothing big, mostly just to watch and learn -- be backup. But I think ... you're not ... you learn best by doing, and you're not really going to learn what we're teaching you until you start doing it."

Tim sat up and leaned his head against the rear window, eyes fixed on the roof liner, and blew out a deep breath. "You have no idea how ready I am to get out of here. To get out there and start getting things done."

"Oh, I think I have some idea, but --" Sam studied Tim's profile. "If they both say no --"

"They won't." Tim's voice was matter of fact. His eyes looked almost amber, they burnt so intensely. "You know they won't."

Sam shrugged. He didn't think they would, but he hated to give people false hope.

They sat silently for another minute or so, then Sam started the truck again. Tim held his hands in front of the vents, smiling at the hot air that flowed out.

"So, what do you and Dean do besides Hunting?" he asked when Sam put the truck into gear.

Sam gave a short, sharp laugh and said, "Well, that's a loaded question. Because when you're a Hunter, you're never really not Hunting, just taking slack time between." He swallowed. "You do odd jobs here and there if you don't have a business like Bobby's. Also, there's a lot more to Hunting than you'd think." He neglected to add: like credit card fraud, mail fraud, fake IDs, breaking and entering, petty larceny, trespassing, hustling, and plenty of all around grifting.

"Dean, he's never done anything but Hunt. It's what he does. It's what he wants to do. I don't think he's ever thought of going straight." _He claims he's tired, looking forward being done, resting, finally, but he doesn't know what that means, what rest, or Hell is._ "Me? Well, I tried, but got sucked back in. And ... at this point, there's no going back to the straight world." And if you come with, you're pretty much saying good bye to all of that, _and do you really get what that means?_

"Yeah, but what do you do for kicks?" Tim sighed almost irritably.

_We don't get kicks._ Sam shrugged. "Occasionally unwind at a bar. Watch TV. Visit kooky roadside attractions. We've seen some pretty damn weird ones, too. I half think Dean and I could write a book about off-beat Americana." Also, Dean picks up girls and fucks them whenever he can.

Tim frowned in thought. "Okay," he said in that slow, thoughtful way of his, "but how do you get paid? I get that you can't tell most people what you do, most of the time, but if you don't own a wrecking yard like Bobby, or moonlight as a bounty Hunter or big-game guide, how do you make ends meet? You don't exactly strike me as guys living off a trust fund or something."

Sam flashed him a bitter smile. Trust fund. As if. "We steal." Blunt, but true.

"What?" Then Tim blushed a bit and said, "Oh, well, yeah. But doesn't that attract attention from the authorities?"

Yes it does. Especially if you're stupid about it. "Not that much if you're careful and steal only what you need. We use a lot of fake IDs. Which, incidentally, getting them has gotten a hell of a lot harder since 9/11."

"Another reason to hate those bastards," Tim murmured.

Sam nodded. "Dean also hustles pool from time to time."

"Hey," Tim said brightly, "I know how to do that -- hustle pool. I'm actually pretty good." Pause, and he turned an almost baleful gaze on Sam. "You _are_ going to get me fake ID that says I'm over 21, right?"

Sam smiled. "You wouldn't be as useful if we didn't."

"Cool."

"But don't think this means you've got a license to get plastered. Drunk or hungover Hunting ... well, Hunting's dangerous enough as is."

Tim rolled his eyes. "My drinking days have been greatly exaggerated. Besides, I don't have all the reasons to drink that I used to," he finished quietly.

Sam didn't say anything. He knew what Landry told Bobby, and Bobby had had his own observations. Cutting somebody off wasn't the same as them giving it up, and hunting came with a whole unique set of reasons that would drive people to drink. When he finally spoke, he said, "It's not like Dean and I never drink, but getting drunk and staying drunk? I've never met an old Hunter who was also an old drunk. I'm serious about that. It's not a 'I drink on days that end in Y kind of job.'"

Tim nodded again, but there was a tightness to his mouth as he looked out the window. He didn't speak all the way back to Bobby's.


	4. Chapter 4

At lunch time, Sam dropped the bomb. "I think Dean and I should take Tim when we go." Landry and Tyra shot each other a loaded glance, Dean took a long guzzle of his beer, and Bobby set his knife and fork aside and looked Tim up and down appraisingly before he grunted and headed for his study.

"A little warning, Sam?" Dean said as he stood and followed Bobby down the hall.

Sam gave Tim an "I tried" look and went after.

Bobby shut the door after Sam entered. "Do you have any idea what you're getting into? What you're getting him into?" He said in a low, tight voice.

Dean spoke before Sam could, "Come on, Bobby, it's a teenaged boy, how bad can he be?"

"He doesn't think!" Bobby hissed. "He means well, he's got a knack for the basics, he's got a good heart, but for him there's all too often no difference between thinking and doing. Tim can resist anything but temptation. He doesn't mean to, but he's got a knack for creating havoc that rivals a trickster at times. He's not -- I checked."

"And he's bored, starting to get angry, and going stir crazy, Bobby," Dean said, catching Sam by surprise. "Sure he says it's over between him and Tyra, and maybe he'd like to think it is, but do you think he's going to keep sweet sleeping on your couch with no outlet for the next several months? We'll bring him into the field and he'll learn and get it right, or he'll Darwinize himself." Sam half wondered if Tim and Dean had talked, because Dean's championship of Tim caught him by surprise and it wasn't like Dean to go out on a limb like this.

Bobby scowled, "Or maybe get one of you killed because he couldn't say no to a pretty face."

Dean shrugged, hands spread. "Dead man walking, here, Bobby."

Sam wanted to slap the crap out of Dean, but he swallowed his rage down and replied, "He's not your speed, Bobby. You've done right by him. You've done more than right by him, but he's chafing here, and Dean's dead right about what's going to happen now that Tyra's here. Let him come with us. He'll sink, or he'll swim. And if he's sinking, we'll put him on the bus and get him back to you."

Bobby snorted and shook his head. "But would he stay on it? He's seen way too much for a kid his age, but in other ways, he's got no clue."

Dean scratched idly at the edge of his jaw. "Bobby, you can't mother-hen him forever."

Ouch, but Sam knew it was a calculated blow to Bobby's pride.

"Fine." Bobby bit out the word. "But don't say I haven't given you warning. Tim's a handful -- no, he's a double handful -- and you don't dare let go. I mean it when I say keep him on a short leash, Sam."

They found Tim slouched on the couch, arms crossed. "So?" His voice was soft, hesitant.

Dean grinned at him. "Obi-Sammy here's going to teach you the fine art of hunting down a case."

Both Sam and Tim looked at him, blinking.

"What?" Dean asked. "Star-Wars. You're like his Jedi Master, Sam."

Tim chewed his lip for a moment and shrugged. "Okay, but I'm not putting my hair in the little dork braid."

Dean laughed and said, "You're not getting a pony either."

Tim crossed his arms and got a stubborn look on his face. "Don't want a pony," he sulked. Then a mischievous grin flashed across his face as he looked up. "I want a puppy."

An equally wicked twinkle entered Dean's eye as he replied, "Sure thing, as soon as we find one that doesn't shed or shit."

They all laughed over that, and inwardly, Sam heaved a sigh of relief. It would be different having three people in the car again after so long with just him and Dean, but it would be good, too.

(And some how, some way, as soon as possible, there would be him, Tim, and a bed.)

~oo(0)oo~

"So, when are you planning on leaving?" Tyra asked Sam later that afternoon, when Bobby made it official.

"As soon as we find a case," Sam replied. "I've got a few ideas on where to start looking -- are you interested in learning, too?"

She shrugged and pushed a lock of hair back, tucking it behind an ear. "A bit. But Landry and I are going to be working on a project, so I think I'll let Bobby start showing us what to do.

"I always wanted to get out of Dillon, get out of West Texas, but this isn't what I had in mind at all. I mean, I don't really think I want to Hunt. Being tech support for Hunters? I ... maybe I could do that. You know, have a job and do this on the side. I think it's what Landry's cut out for, and I'm thinking maybe me, too." She chewed her lip in thought.

"Nothing says you have to do this, you know." He kept his voice light and mild. "Bobby's going to get you and Landry back in school come spring, and --" Sam swallowed hard. "Once upon a time I was planning to be a lawyer. But ... well, fate kind of forced me back in to Hunting. But, nothing says you can't get a scholarship or a grant and find a life that has nothing to do with this. You weren't raised in it like I was."

She smiled a little sadly. "Yeah, but Landry ... "

"You love him, don't you?"

Tyra paused, then piffed air through her bangs. "Yeah," she finally said. "He's never taken me for granted. Never saw me as Tyra _Colette_. Landry's seen things in me that no other guy has, things I didn't even see in myself." She folded her hands and sat down. "I mean, at first, he was just this annoying dork that hung out with Matt, my friend Julie's boyfriend. I didn't even bother to learn his name. But then I learned ... in a lot of ways, he's the bravest, kindest guy I've ever met, and I realized I should stop being so shallow, and that I should take this good thing that's right in front of me, because it was one of the few good things that was ever going to be there just for the taking."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "What about Tim?"

"What about him?"

"You tell me."

"You ... haven't been around him the way I have and, well, he never let me in. And," she sighed heavily and ran both hands through her hair, "I was with him because I was shallow. I wanted him because he was so good looking, and because he was Jason Street's best friend, and I forgave Tim a lot of things because of those two things. I needed him. I needed to be the regular for the hottest guy in school, and I needed him because that got me close to Jason. See, if Jason broke up with Lyla Garrity, maybe he'd finally see me, so I was all set to swoop in and mend his broken heart and ... well, that didn't happen. Except that Tim slept with Lyla." Her voice turned bitter. "He'd been in love with her for years -- only he didn't realize it."

"Oh."

"Yeah. But things happened and I had a moment that woke me up and I realized that Tim Riggins would always be Tim Riggins, and if we kept on breaking up and getting back together, it would be out of force of habit, and that I didn't need to have a man to have something in life.

"Also … Tim's broken in ways that I can't fix. Or he won't let me fix. Or maybe he'll fix himself when the right person and right time and place come along. Or maybe that will never happen. But I just know that I'm not the person for Tim. Not that way. So, we're friends now, and actually, that's worked a hell of a lot better, because he's let me be there as a friend, and he's been there for me, too, a few times.

"But now," she smiled, "I've got Landry, who's a dork, and a motormouth, and I don't have a plan in the world for fixing him, and he makes me happy in ways I never thought I could be happy. Ways I didn't really know existed until I started to get to know him. And I'm babbling." She laughed.

Sam just nodded and smiled.

"You should totally take Tim Hunting," Tyra said brightly. "I think he needs it more than anything right now. Tim ... needs to feel needed, wanted. He needs to be useful and good at something. That's what football was to him. Besides getting him beer and just about any girl he asked, he knew that he was a good fullback. That Smash got all those yards because he was there, clearing the way. He just ..." her voice trailed off, but when she spoke again, there was steel in it. "If he fucks up, tell him, but don't be cruel about it, don't ride him. And let him know when he does right, let him know that he's earned his place on your team, because if you make him feel like he belongs, he'll give you everything he's got, and it's actually a hell of a lot more than people give him credit for."

He's already given me everything. I don't quite know why, but, he has, Sam thought. He nodded thoughtfully as he rolled what she'd just told him about Tim over in his mind. They sat in silence broken only by the ticking of the old clock on the sideboard. "Anything else?" Sam asked after a few minutes passed.

"Well ... he's a slave to his dick," she began, but then dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "but sometimes, it's not just about sex for him, y'know."

Sam choked.

Tyra winked at him and said, "I know Tim." She rose and headed down the hall.

~oo(0)oo~

"So, uh ..." Tim scratched idly at his hair. "How do you find a case?"

"It's a process of looking for things that just don't seem right, and then following up to see if you can find a pattern." Sam opened up his laptop. "Dean's a bit more old school than I am, but he's not that different. I subscribe to some RSS feeds and some mailing lists devoted to different kinds of news: news of the weird, strange fires, animal mutilations, and the like. Most people, they're just on it for laughs, or because they get their kicks vicariously, or they're researching some strange phenomena, but as a Hunter, you'll start using that sixth sense, and read and just start thinking that there's got to be more to the story, that something's not quite right.

"And then you start following up on those stories that make you ... tingle, I guess. And a lot of the times, it's nothing, but every now and again, you find a pattern of things that others have overlooked or written off.

"Like this." Sam pointed to a link. "Livestock mutilations down in southeastern Colorado. It might be some bored teens causing trouble, but I've done some more digging, and it's started suddenly in the past two months --" Sam pointed to several other tabs in his browser, "I'm thinking it's a chupacabra."

"Chupa-what?"

"Chupacabra," Dean said from behind them. "Vampire bats from hell." Dean smiled as he wiped his hands dry with a dishtowel. "Did you know that Landry's trying to cobble together a theodolite?"

"What?"

"A theodolite," Dean repeated.

"That's a surveyor's tool, Dean, you know that, right?"

Dean grinned. "I think he's got this idea about slaying demons with trigonometry."

Tim said, "He's just trying to help Tyra see how math is useful. Also, he thinks that Bobby's property lines are a little off." At Sam and Dean's looks, he continued, "He talked to me about it a little bit before Tyra came. Told me surveyors make good money and that it would keep him sharp, and that I might learn something useful, too." He rolled his eyes. "But Tyra, she's starting to actually learn all that fancy math. Unless I beat something to death with the textbook or the tripod? I don't think it would do me a lick of good." He laughed. "Besides, better the two of them trooping through the rain, and wet leaves, and snow."

Sam idly scratched at his jaw line and wondered if Landry really did have plans to use math to do magic somehow. After all, according to Bobby, he had found a way to use a quadratic equation for something other than determining peak efficiency. He made a mental note to find out more about that later. He pointed back to the computer. "Anyhow, Tim, I think there are three more possible cases in here. I want you to start reading and seeing if you can find them, too, so we can get an idea of where to go after Colorado."

Tim groaned. "I hate reading."

Dean leaned down and said, "Part of being a Hunter is putting in the hours of boring research so that you can have your ten minutes of sheer terror."

~oo(0)oo~

"How 'bout we leave on Friday?' Dean said after dinner.

"Why Friday?" Tim asked.

"It will give us time to tie up a few loose ends," Bobby replied. "Also, that's when your new ID will get here."

"Oh. Um ... what's my name and where am I from?"

Bobby got a slightly wicked grin in his eye and said, "You're John Riggins from Caliente, Nevada." Pause. "Yes, you're 21. And I picked Nevada because they're pretty damn paranoid about 21 and over ID."

"Yeah, don't I know it," Dean griped. "It's the most paranoid state I ever lived in about that."

"Really?"

"Yeah, they use completely different looking licenses." Sam said. "We lived there one winter when I was a freshman in high school, and Dean was pissed about it because there was no way to alter it to make him pass as 21."

"Under 21, and they took your picture in profile," Dean explained. "And if that wasn't enough, they put 'Under 21' in huge red letters across the top. So even if you got the laminate pried open and did a re-touch on the lettering, the photo was a dead give away. You really needed to get your hand on a blank template to get a good fake Nevada driver's license."

"It's a little bit different now," Bobby said. "Underage drivers get a three-quarter profile photo taken, but they've still got the really prominent 'Under 21' on it. I know, because I also got one made for Landry, with his real age on it."

"Do I get a credit card, too?" Tim asked.

"No!" The three of them replied as one.

"Well, that sucks." Tim's expression turned mock pouty.

He perked up when Dean said, "But I've got a Beretta just for you. I also just sawed the barrel off a 20 gauge -- it fits good under a coat. Can't tell it's there."

"Speaking of which," Bobby said, "a jacket for you came in the mail today. Now, up here, it's ordinarily a late fall jacket, and you'll have to get something longer and looser to hide the 20 gauge, but ...." he reached over and grabbed a large bubble wrap envelope and handed it to Tim.

Tim took it and turned it over wonderingly a few times in his hands before almost gingerly tearing it open. His eyes grew bright with emotion as he saw what lay inside. "It's ... I don't know what to say." He held out a shearling-lined Levi jean jacket.

"Tyra and Landry said that you had one just like this back in Texas -- I ordered it before I knew you were going Hunting. I thought you might like a little bit of home."

"Yeah." Tim gave that Mona Lisa smile of his, the one that meant that he was so touched he didn't dare show it. He stepped forward and wrapped Bobby in a bear-hug so tight that the older man grunted. "Thanks, Bobby. This ... you didn't have to."

"But, I did." Bobby actually blushed. "Now try it on, let's make sure it fits right."

Later, as they were in the bathroom getting ready for bed, Sam said, "Would've thought you had a letterman's jacket."

Tim wiped his face dry and shook his head. "Nope. Not really my style. Big banner in the front yard was good enough." He squirted toothpaste on his toothbrush, studied it for a moment, then said softly, "Besides, they cost a lot of money. Billy asked, because he had one in high school and he loved the hell out of it, but ... I wasn't going to wear it much if I got it."

"But it was nice of him to ask," Sam pointed out. He had lettered in soccer, even got a trophy for a championship, but dad never offered. They moved too much and he wasn't going to spend $200 for a jacket that would be no good in a few months.

"Yeah, it was," Tim said, then shrugged, and brushed his teeth.

~oo(0)oo~

Sam forced himself to wait 30 minutes then five more to be really sure that Dean had nodded off before he tapped Tim on the shoulder and pointed towards the kitchen. Even in the gloom and shadows, he could see the eager gleam in Tim's eyes.

Yeah, the laundry room was like midnight in a mineshaft, and cold to boot, but having Tim twice in a day? _So very worth it._

They were frantically, hungrily kissing, when the door opened.

"Is this a private party, or can I come too?" Dean asked.

~oo(0)oo~

For a split second, Sam's heart leaped into his throat. He tried to speak, but his mouth had gone cotton dry.

Tim leaned in and whispered huskily, tone sending shivers up Sam's spine, "It's your call. It's not my first three-way. With siblings, even."

(OhGod.)

Because, on the one hand, Jesus fuck, yes! It was ... it was a way to have Dean ~~and not have him~~, to connect with Dean in a completely new, incredibly intimate way.

But.

A part of Sam didn't want to share Tim.

But Tim, not understanding the reason for the pause, or perhaps understanding it completely, whispered again, "It's cool, really. If you want to."

Right.

Sam responded by wrapping an arm around Tim and pulling him in close, while he reached with his other arm and pulled Dean into the room, facing him, but pressed against the washing machine. He then spun Tim to face Dean and pressed them together.

Despite the dim light, Sam could read the expression on Dean's face. He _knew_, Sam realized with a feeling of mixed joy and despair. Dean had figured it out and ... was still doing this. As long as it was shared through Tim. He saw that in Dean's eyes, and nodded his understanding. This far, but no further.

"We leaving the door open?" Tim asked.

"Don't see why not," Dean murmured in reply. "Yeah, somebody might come in for a midnight snack, but they might as well get an eyeful as well as an earful, too."

At least, we'll be able to see a little of what we're doing, Sam thought as he began sucking kisses on the back of Tim's neck, causing him to stiffen and gasp in appreciation.

~oo(0)oo~

There was an unspoken rule between him and Dean: touch Tim all over, but don't touch each other. Any time they happened to brush hands, both withdrew with lightning speed.

And, as much as part of Sam wanted to grab Tim and just go for it, something made him hold back, waiting, watching, smelling, and listening.

He ran his hands under Tim's shirt, sliding upward, teasing the hard nubs of his nipples as Dean's hands smoothly and surely ran across Tim's taut stomach and over the sharp blades of his hips, before hooking in the waistband of his shorts and pulling down, the two of them making Tim writhe between them, and Sam was as hard as a steel pole while Dean moaned his appreciation of whatever Tim did with his mouth at the junction of neck and collarbone, before Dean seized Tim, reaching around to cup his ass -- Sam jumping back out of reach -- clenching him, making Tim hiss in delight, and with a strangled noise of his own, began grinding against him.

Part of Sam wanted to chafe up against Tim, start thrusting and rocking his own way to orgasm. (With the added bonus of Dean's knuckles rubbing against his pelvis.)

(No. Can't. Not going there. Not crossing that line. It would destroy us. Shared intimacy, not shared flesh.)

Instead, Sam made himself step back, bending his hips out of the way -- cock throbbing with need -- as he leaned forward from the waist and buried his head deep in the side of Tim's neck, kissing, sucking, nipping, causing him to add a whole new chorus to the shivers and breathy cries to that which Dean had already wrung from him. Sam closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, drinking in the smells of Tim and sex. (And Dean.)

Only, Tim seemed to be forgetting himself, lost in the rush of oncoming climax, because he got noisier, so much so that Sam ran his right hand up and over those full, lush lips -- so soft and still throbbing ever so slightly from getting and giving kisses -- and, fingers probing, questing, demanded entrance, until Tim opened his mouth and sucked them in, tongue tangling around them, stroking, sending such a jolt through Sam's body that he gasped as his cock twitched and spurted a fresh flood of pre-come.

Full body shivers started to overtake Tim now, Sam could tell that he was close, Dean too, by the raspy hitch in his breathing, and the choked, bitten off nature of his obscenities.

Sam reached his other hand up to Tim's face, shuddered and moaned inwardly when Tim sucked those fingers in, took his other hand away, and swiftly reached down and back -- Tim faltering, body stiffening in surprise -- ghosting his fingers there, teasing -- Tim ripped his head away from Sam's other hand, voice ragged. "Jesus, Sam, what are you --" pushing one finger in to the first knuckle, pulling it out and quickly pushing it back in, all the way. "Oh, Jesus!" Tim gasped, full body flexing in response.

Dean gave a long, drawn out groan and Sam got in two more strokes before Tim gave a short, almost shocked cry, his entire body arching in climax before his knees buckled a moment later and he started going down, dragging an almost equally noodle legged Dean with him.

Sam caught Tim under the arms and hauled up, but it was like trying to get a rag doll to stand.

Dean managed to catch himself on the edge of the washer, half-laughing and saying something about the last time he came so hard the world went away, and between the two of them, they finally got Tim mostly upright, but he was so dazed that several seconds passed before he could speak, and when he did, all he could say was, "Jesus Christ, Sam. Jesus Christ."

Sam laughed along with Dean, but he had hit the point where he couldn't wait any longer. He pressed Tim against Dean, screwed his eyes shut and pushed forward, pretending it was Tim's ass he was fucking, not his thighs, and it was so, _so_ good when he finally came.

They left the laundry room door open to help air it out, and cleaned a still shaky Tim up with paper towels and the incredibly cold water from the tap, and as Dean swiped at the come all across Tim's lower belly -- the sight of that making Sam twitch-tingle a bit despite the cold -- Sam noticed something else in the moonlight.

At some point, Tim had sucked a hickey on to Dean's neck.

Crap.

When he saw the damage the now fully recovered Tim closed his eyes and winced. It was faint now, but would be bright burgundy-red by morning. "We are so fucked," he whispered. "Sorry."

Dean shook his head and reached over and ruffled Tim's hair. "Nah. Don't worry. I'll just say got dressed again, hit a bar, and picked up some chick."

"And if you think they'll believe that, I've got this bridge in Brooklyn I'd like to sell you," Sam muttered darkly.

Dean hissed, "Look, we'll be fucking busted for sure if we slink around, acting all guilty, like we've got something to hide."

Tim cleared his throat. "Bobby got me this shirt that zips way up in front, kind of like a turtleneck. It's in my dresser. I can just sneak in and get it. Well, not really sneak in, because Landry doesn't sleep much, but he probably won't ask questions or think something's up."

Sam rolled his eyes and sighed. He liked to think that Bobby would just grumble and accept this, the same way he had grumbled and accepted so many other things about them. But he also knew that luck was a fickle bitch, and not to push her more than they already had.

In the end, they didn't need Tim's shirt after all. Dean buttoned his flannel shirt all the way up, and that covered the hickey just fine, and since Bobby was notorious for being a heat miser ("You aren't the ones stuck paying the bills.") they doubted anybody would think twice about it.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam wanted to pull Tim into more research, but Dean argued that could wait until they got rolling. Instead, he said it was time that Tim got a quick and dirty lesson about the art of knife fighting.

And, considering how often they pulled knives or had knives pulled on them? Dean was right. Tim needed to learn this.

As with anything physical, Tim proved to be a fast learner. By the time Dean called a halt to the lesson, Tim, while by no means an expert, had the fundamentals down to the extent that Dean felt comfortable enough to hand him a knife to carry. Tim's eyes grew huge when Dean thumbed it open, revealing its wicked looking reverse S curve and serrated edge.

"This, Tim," Dean said with a sharp smile, "is the Spyderco Matriarch. It's strictly a hit and run weapon. So, you pull this and you slice, and you dice, and then you run like hell. Okay?"

"Okay," Tim nodded solemnly as he accepted the blade with an almost awed expression on his face, carefully turning it over in his hands a few times before he clipped it to the waistband of his jeans.

As soon as he got a chance, Sam pulled Dean aside. "Dude, that's your back-up knife."

Dean shrugged, "Nah, I still got that Harpy tucked away."

Sam blinked at that. Dean loved that knife. It was out of production and a rarity to begin with, and though Spyderco made a bigger version called the Civilian, Dean preferred the Matriarch because its smaller size made it easier to conceal. Also, he'd won it hustling pool. The Harpy, with its serrated hawkbill blade was also a very good defensive knife, and actually suited for a bit of utility work because it had been designed as a fisherman's utility knife, good at cutting lines and fouled nets unlike the Matriarch, which was designed for one thing only -- to lay flesh open to the bone. And although Dean dug the Harpy (because it was the knife used by Hannibal Lecter to disembowel several of his victims) it was his second favorite knife, not the beautiful-as-it-was-scary Matriarch.

"What?" Dean asked, frowning at him.

"It's just ... I know how you love that knife." _So, why are you giving it away?_ "Why not give Tim the Harpy?"

Dean shrugged. "I figured he deserved it. That he'd like something special. Hell," he grinned, "I've never had to use it, so maybe it's lucky that way, and Tim's gonna need luck a whole hell of a lot more than I will."

"Fuck you," Sam hissed.

Dean's eyes narrowed. "No, but that's what you've got Tim for."

Fuck fuck fuck! "It's not -- you asked -- he's not just --" Sam sputtered.

"Whatever." Dean spun on his heel and walked away.

Sam sank down to the edge of the porch and buried his head in his hands.

~oo(0)oo~

"So, um, packing, " Tim said as he looked around the room he used to share with Landry. "How much stuff should I take?" He ran a hand into his hair and idly scratched. "I mean, it's not like I have a whole heck of a lot of stuff ...."

"The essentials are clean undies and socks."

"Yeah, I get that," Tim replied, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "But, like two of everything else? Three?"

Sam sighed. "How did you pack when your brother kicked you out?"

Pause.

Tim broke the silence with a strange sort half snort-half snicker. "I didn't. I was so fucking pissed off at him, so ... shocked, that I just grabbed my backpack and crammed stuff in." He paused. "Half of it was dirty."

They all laughed.

~oo(0)oo~

There was no trip to the laundry room that night. Between learning the fundamentals of knife fighting, packing, and going over every inch of the Impala with Dean, and maybe just excitement and nerves, Tim went out almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. On the other side of him, Dean followed shortly after.

As he stared up at the ceiling, mind rolling over and over, Sam didn't half mind. Sure, sex would help him fall asleep, but tomorrow night, there would be a bed, and, like Dad had said, "Hunger is the best sauce."

~oo(0)oo~

"So, I guess this is it, then," Tim said after he slung his bag into the Impala. He scrubbed his hands a bit nervously on his jeans.

Bobby smiled fondly at him. "Bet the three of you are looking forward to having real beds again."

Everybody laughed. (And thank goodness Tim didn't look at him or Dean.)

Tim hugged Bobby, then Tyra, laughing and blushing when she ruffled his hair. He dodged Landry's outstretched hand and pulled him in to a bear hug, squeezing tight as he mock growled at Landry to treat Tyra right.

"I promise not to treat her like you did," Landry wheezed when he got his breath back. "Scout's honor." A zinger, but said in good fun.

Tim smiled and said, "Damn right, you better."

As Sam said his goodbyes -- Dean impatiently revved the engine a few times -- Bobby and Landry assured him they'd keep looking for anything that might save Dean, and Tyra whispered in his ear, "You take good care of Tim."

"I will," Sam whispered back. "Promise."

Just before Dean put the car in motion, Tim leaned out the window and called, "Hey Landry, good luck with that troglodyte you're building!"

Landry facepalmed and shook his head.

Tim cackled triumphantly.

"You -- you mean -- you've been just yanking my chain?! _All this time?!_"

"Yup, every chance I get, Lando." Tim shot him a shiteating grin.

"Bastard!" Landry laughed.

And on that note, Dean finally pulled away.

~oo(0)oo~

They pulled into a motor court 500 miles later.

Dean chucked his bag in the room, freshened up in the sink, ran a fresh coat of speed stick over his pits, and said that he was going to grab a bite to eat, and maybe shoot some pool or play some darts at that bar back down the road, and that he'd be back later.

Sam stopped him at the door. "Um ... you don't want to ...?"

"Nah," Dean murmured, shaking his head. "I'm not in the mood. I might see if I can find a girl later, but you and Tim? Go on and have an excellent time." He leered at Sam. "I'll call before I come home ... or call to let you know if I'm not coming home." He shut the door behind him.

Tim came bare-chested out of the bathroom a moment later. "So, what now?" Pause. "Where's Dean?"

"Out."

A tiny smile flitted across Tim's lips. "Oh. How about sex and then some pizza?"

Sam's mouth opened and closed several times before he could sputter, "Yeah." And then he snickered.

"What?"

"I've just ... I don't know that many people who are so direct about it." He laughed again.

Tim smiled wickedly and sauntered over, jeans riding low on his hips. "You can't just expect people to give you things in life, Sam. You gotta ask for what you want. Or sometimes, you just take it." He paused and his eyes raked over Sam. "I'm dying to know what all of you looks like."

Sam hooked his fingers into Tim's belt loops and pulled. "Me too." And he kissed him the way he'd been longing to all day.

Tim started walking, backing Sam up, pushing him towards the bed, and when Sam finally laid down on it, Tim climbed on top and kissed him long and lush. "God," he said when they broke for air, "if you had told me two years ago that I'd be out of Dillon, on the lam from the law, busting ghosts, and making it with a guy?" He snickered.

"Yeah, me too." Sam laughed back as he tangled his fingers in Tim's hair, cupping the back of his head, pulling him in. "'Cause, if you had told me that I'd go for a steady thing with a guy ...?"

Tim grinned down at him and dove in for another kiss.

~oo(0)oo~

To Sam's surprise (and delight) Tim wanted to take it a bit slow and savor things.

And, dear God, he was good. Sam laugh-groaned inwardly at that. Tim just did these amazing things with his hands and mouth, seemed to have a sixth sense for sex. (A sexth sense?)

"Are you sure you haven't had a whole string of boyfriends?" Sam said in raspy voice when Tim lifted his head from doing incredible things to Sam's nipples.

"No, it's just J --" Tim caught himself and pressed his mouth shut.

Sam looked at him an arched an eyebrow.

"Just Jason," Tim said, voice strained. "Only a few times ... he wasn't a boyfriend. He was -- he's my best friend."

"Then I suppose there's a long line of lovely ladies to thank, or maybe it's all just your dirty mind I need to thank." Sam put a bit of lightheartedness into his voice, hoping to keep the mood from changing to something darker.

The wicked little glint flicked back on in Tim's eyes. "Both. I'll show you, if you like."

"Oh, I'd like. A lot."

Tim chortled wickedly and went back to work on Sam's body, mapping, exploring, asking what was good and doing it, until Sam felt like a steel rail.

"Tim," Sam choked out as that hot, knowing mouth nibbled along what Tim called "the happy trail", "we're going to have to do something soon here, because I can't hold back much longer." He hissed and clenched his teeth as Tim licked him from root to tip.

"What do you want me to do?"

Sam felt himself blush. "Can we ... like we did in the truck that day?"

"Sure," Tim replied, not seeming the least bit put out by the request.

"It's a kink I never knew I had." Sam felt he needed to explain.

Tim smiled. "It's cool."

"It's just --"

"Sam. You like it. I don't mind. It's just sex. Don't ... overthink it." Tim shrugged.

("It's just sex." _But what if I want more than that?_ )

Tim climbed back up -- dropping a few kisses along the way -- and laid next to Sam who rolled and straddled him, shaking and groaning when Tim reached up and closed his hand around him. "This is going to be _so_ much better without that armrest digging into my kidneys."

Sam laughed.

"And, I can see your face. See what happens when I do this --" Tim flexed his hand "or this." He swiped his thumb several times rapidly over the tip, before sliding it down to tease at the edges of the crown. Sam closed his eyes and hissed through clenched teeth it was so good.

"Don't hold back, Sam. We don't have to be quiet anymore," Tim said in a smoky voice.

So Sam didn't.

He knew he would never be as wild and unrestrained as Tim, but he let loose, and watched as the fire in Tim's eyes flared up in response to what he was doing to Sam, which in turn made it even better for Sam -- it was a perfect feedback loop -- the twitches, the gasps, the words, the sounds between them, building higher and higher until Sam couldn't keep it in any longer and came all over Tim.

Panting and shaking slightly, he crawled down to start licking Tim clean.

(Sam had tasted his come once, as a teenager, just to satisfy basic curiosity. He half couldn't believe that he had cleaned his come off of Tim the first time -- it had been something done on a whim. And now? This time he would close his eyes so he could pretend it was Tim's come he was licking off.)

Tim's hand stayed him. "Do that thing with your finger," he whispered.

"You liked that, then?" Sam asked archly.

"A lot" Tim said in a velvety tone. "I had no idea that things ...." Pause. "You know I'm going to do it to you sometime, right?"

"Sure," Sam replied and reached his hand to Tim's mouth, hissing inside when Tim sucked them in, tongue swirling as wickedly as ever.

A few moments later, Tim was the one hissing as Sam circled the opening and pushed his finger in to the first joint. "Good?"

"Uhhuhdon'tstop," Tim spoke in a breathless rush.

Sam teased him several times, pushing into that tight heat only as far as the first joint, until, as he bent to finally start lapping at Tim's belly, did he finally drive it all the way in. Tim gave a bone-deep groan and spread his legs as Sam began slowly pumping his finger in and out.

When he had finished, licking Tim's fluttering belly clean, Sam slid down and took that hot, seeping cock into his mouth, driving in deep, causing Tim to arch and shout. Sam rolled his tongue over the head, savoring the salty bitterness of it, drinking in the smell of Tim, vibing on the way that Tim clenched that heat around him. A constant stream of broken gasps and groans and oh pleases and oh Sams issued from Tim's mouth, and Sam wished to God that he could see the expression on Tim's face, because he knew it had to be one of utter rapture, utter wild and unrestrained beauty. Spurred on by Tim's fiery responses, Sam quickened the pace of both his hand and mouth, causing Tim to cry out almost violently as he arched and fisted the bedspread. That tell-tale full-body tremor followed in less than a minute and he got no more than a frantic, "Jesus, Sam!" before Tim bucked hard and came.

He didn't quite get his face away in time.

Grinning, Sam wiped his chin clean with the back of his hand and looked up to see Tim looking down at him with a dazed, shaky smile.

"Jesus, Sam, that's ..." Tim rasped. He shook his head. "_Like_ doesn't begin to cover it."

Sam smiled and crawled back up the length of Tim's body to lie next to him and began idly trailing his fingers through the fresh come on Tim's body.

Tim looked at his hand, looked up, smiled, and said, "What is it with you and come?"

"Don't know," Sam murmured, kissing him softly on the forehead. "It's a brand new kink. Must have something to do with you."

Tim kissed him softly on the cheek. "Right. I'm going to shower. You call for pizza."

"What, no shower sex?" Not that he could at the moment, but given some time, like say, a long, steamy shower? He could. It had been awhile since Sam had wanted to or even had the chance for twice a night.

"Have you ever had sex in a shower?"

Well, no, he hadn't. "Jess and I had one of those Roman tubs."

"That's different. The shower is lots of fun until somebody loses their balance and splits their head or lip open." Tim paused and then grinned wickedly. "It's a cool place to get things started, though."

Sam nodded thoughtfully. Next time they got gored up? Oh yeah, victory shower.

Tim shut the door. "Extra cheese!" he yelled through it.

Sam sighed and pulled his clothes back on before he called.

Tim emerged a few minutes later in a cloud of steam and a white towel and ... God, nobody should look like that. It was like seeing Michelangelo's David come to life.

"I was thinking about you, something I want to ask," Sam began.

"Shoot," Tim said as he removed the towel and wound it around his head before reaching for his clothes. "What'd you get?"

"Everything but the fishes." Sam took a deep breath. "So, how cool are you with this? I mean, it wasn't exactly easy when I figured out that ... I mean, I never talked about it with Dean growing up, or my dad -- especially not my dad -- and Jess had no idea, so --"

"Am I freaking inside?" There was a strange edge in Tim's voice. "Nope. Outside of about ... 4 or 5 people, I don't really care what other people think about me. Pretty much I do what I want and they'll think what they want. I mean, I'm a Riggins, right?"

Sam thought about that, the loaded way he'd said "Riggins". "Yeah, I think I get it." One step up from a doublewide -- he'd seen that look, that attitude, all too often growing up. And it had made him work all the harder to prove that he was something different, something better. Dean on the other hand? Water off a duck's back. Apparently Tim, too.

Tim shrugged, picked up the remote, turned on the TV, sprawled on the bed, cycled through the channels, didn't find anything to catch his attention, turned it off, stood up, and started pacing aimlessly. Sam pulled out his laptop. "You interested in doing some more research?"

"Not particularly," said Tim who had dropped to the floor and started doing pushups. "But start reading what you find to me."

Sam rolled his eyes, muttered under his breath, and began with a short newspaper article from the Trinidad Times Independent about mutilated cows and missing sheep in Las Animas and Baca counties.

~oo(0)oo~

When the pizza finally came, Tim had several questions about the case. Was it weird that it was sheep and cows? Why not horses or pigs, too? Would a guard dog be enough to run a chupacabra off? What if it was some other kind of creature?

It's not like he became a Landry level motormouth, but Sam felt encouraged knowing that Tim had paid attention during all those push-ups and sit-ups.

Also, it was a good sign that he could listen to some pretty graphic details about the kind of damage done by various creatures -- even look at a few pictures online -- and not get squeamish or grossed out. He kept right on eating pizza. A Hunter couldn't afford to have a weak stomach. Of course the real test would come when they got into the field, especially if they discovered a shape shifter or revenant's lair.

~oo(0)oo~

The phone rang.

"You decent?" Dean asked, a smirk in his voice.

"In a manner of speaking," Sam deadpanned.

Dean laughed.

"We just had a pizza."

"Oh, is that all?"

Sam smiled and said, "For dinner, yeah. You coming back in?"

"Yeah," Dean grumbled. "This town is pretty dead." Pause. "You still got any pizza left?"

Sam's smile got even bigger. "Nope."

"Jerk."

"Take it up with Tim."

"I just might have to." A knock came at the door.

Sam opened it. "I can't believe you were just outside the door. Lemme guess. You had your ear to it?"

Dean gave an evil smile.

~oo(0)oo~

Sam thought that bedtime might prove awkward, but Tim climbed in, spooned up behind him, kissed his shoulder, and settled in, his breath warm and soothing against the nape of Sam's neck.

Sam stared across the gap between the beds, the room was dark, but he could make out Dean's face in the dim light. He looked at Dean looking at him, the expression on his face soft, unguarded, pensive. Dean held his eyes for a moment, then his "Sammy, you're an idiot" grin flashed across his face and he rolled over.

Sam sighed.

Tim snuggled deeper.

~oo(0)oo~

Ruby slouched against the hood of the Impala, her hair almost unnaturally golden in the light of the ...

Wait. Where was the sun?

"Yeah, it's kind of freaky to see things all lit up but there's no shadows." She grinned wolfishly.

"No sun, either. What is this?" Sam looked around. I looked like their motel, but it was ... off a touch.

She shrugged. "Astral projection."

Sam stroked his chin in thought. "I thought it was more like starlight."

"The sun is a star, Sam."

Oh ... that made sense. "Okay, but why not just show up in the real world?"

She winked at him. "I'm miles away, working on a different project."

"Oh, and how's that going?" He put more than a hint of flipness in his reply.

Ruby idly twirled a lock of her impossibly perfect hair around her finger, studied it for a moment, released it, and said, "These things take time."

Sam clenched his teeth, forced himself to at least act calm, and said, "And Dean's running out of time."

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Believe me, I know."

"So why are you here?" Sam crossed his arms. Ruby had helped in the past, but still, she was a demon, _one of them_, and something about her never failed to irritate him.

Her plastic smile grew wider, her tone became almost simpering. "Just ... checking up."

Sam woke up with a jolt, gasping.

"Whuh?" Tim muttered sleepily.

"Just a strange dream."

"Hmmn." Tim rolled over and Sam spooned up around him. The warmth of Tim's body and the smell of his hair -- soap and something else that Sam could only label "Tim smell" -- washed over him, soothing him.

He drifted back into a dreamless sleep, and woke more refreshed than he had in quite some time.


	6. Chapter 6

Maybe it was the monotony of the scenery -- endless rolling hills of winter bleached grass, long straight roads, waiting and waiting for the Rockies to finally show on the horizon -- or the fact that Tim sat so quietly in the back seat, simply watching the world drift by that you could forget he was there, but 6 hours in, Sam and Dean had an intense screaming fight about _It_ like they hadn't had in weeks.

When they stopped for gas, still not speaking to each other, at a miserable little speck on the map in Nebraska, Tim came out of the store with a six pack.

Sam glared at him. Tim gave it right back to him, eyes as hard and glassy as agates.

Dean shrugged and said that he hoped that Tim didn't just rent beer, because the car wasn't stopping for at least another 200 miles.

"I'll just whip it out and piss out the window."

Sam saw the anger flare in Dean's eyes, but almost immediately dark amusement replaced it. "You'd better have the biggest dick in Texas and piss like a firehose then, because if you get any on my girl here, you are walking back to Bobby's." He patted the car lovingly.

Tim didn't say anything in reply, just got in and set about downing the six pack in a steady, methodical way that made Sam equally sad and angry. When he had emptied the last can, Tim silently curled up in the back seat, knees tucked up, and just stared blankly and fixedly at the seat back.

When Dean couldn't stand the stony silence any more, he pulled over at a rest stop so that he could pee and "take ten."

"Look, Tim, I know why you got the six pack," Sam began when Dean got out of earshot.

"Yeah, because I didn't have the cash for a twelve pack," Tim snapped before stalking over to a picnic table.

Sam forced himself to count to 60 before he walked over.

"I can't do it, Sam," Tim said in a flat, bitter voice. "I can't just sit there while you scream and yell the way my parents used to."

_So you tried to tune us out the only way you could think of._ Sam half-sighed, half-groaned and eased himself down next to Tim. He crossed his arms on the splintery, warped wood of the table, paused for a moment, and rested his chin on top of them. "You can't just drink it away." He peered up through his bangs at Tim.

"And you should stop being such a touchy bastard to Dean."

Sam snapped upright. "It's not that easy," he hissed.

Tim's expression grew mule stubborn. "Is too. Dean says what he says, and you just shut your mouth and make other plans. Learn to embrace the suck."

Sam looked at him.

A sad smile crawled across Tim's face. "I have. It's how I got through a lot." Pause. "Letting things go in one ear and out the other is pretty much what I did with Billy. Although he was right about a lot of things ... I see that now."

Sam kept his voice neutral. "That probably explains a lot about you that I never knew."

Tim sighed and dragged his hands through his hair. "Yeah, probably." He sprang off the table and headed for the men's room.

Sam waited until both Dean and Tim had exited the men's room before he took a "just in case" piss. He came back and Tim was talking almost heatedly to Dean about something. He paused a few feet away and stood quietly. If he strained, he could just make out the words.

"Stop fucking baiting Sam."

"I'm not baiting him, Tim, just telling the truth."

"And maybe we all know it already and it kills Sam inside when you say it."

"He can't deny --"

Tim flung his arms out in exasperation. "It's not denying -- " he exploded, then dropped his voice back down to its previous level, "just don't rub his damn nose in it all the time. You gotta talk to somebody about it, talk to me, okay? I'll suck it up. But I'm asking you nice, Dean. Give it a rest. Sam's not going to stop trying. He's just not. Deal with it."

"Or what?" Dean asked, slightly amused.

Tim's voice dropped a notch towards a growl. "I'll slobberknock the two of you for starters and then ... well, I'll think of something. Maybe drive back to Bobby's with whoever pissed me off more at the time stuffed in the trunk."

Sam cleared his throat.

They got in the car. They still weren't speaking to each other, but at least the worst of the tension was gone.

~oo(0)oo~

Bored and in need of a friendly voice, Sam popped open his cellphone and called Bobby.

"Landry and Tyra are out trooping all over my back 40. I've tried to tell them that I don't care if my property line is off a little, neither does my neighbor, but it gets them out of the house and gives me more time for research."

"Anything new there?"

Bobby sighed heavily. "Nothing worth sharing with you right now, but I'm working on a few things ... that don't involve cutting another deal of the kind that got Dean into this mess.

"Hmmm ... looks like they're back now. Probably going to start ransacking the cupboards and -- " Bobby raised his voice so that it would carry into the next room " -- make some hot cocoa to share." To Sam he said, "I swear I had no idea a girl could eat like Dean, but that Tyra can put it away, give Dean a run for his money."

Sam laughed.

"And then I've had to shell out for winter gear, since they're so damned determined to walk around in the cold and wet. Can't have them dying of exposure -- yes Landry, I _would_ salt and burn your bodies. I know you'd try to be a helpful poltergeist, but you'd be a poltergeist all the same."

Despite his words, Bobby's grousing held no heat. It took Sam a moment to figure it out, but Bobby was happy.

"I'll catch you later, you seem like you've got your hands full," he said.

"Yup. And I'll keep you posted. And, who knows, my survey could be way off."

Sam snorted in laughter and hung up.

"How's Bobby?" Dean asked carefully.

Sam smiled and looked at nothing in particular. "Happy. Bitching about it, but happy."

Dean gave him a "well, duh" look and said, "Of course. It's Bobby."

"How are Tyra and Landry?" Tim asked.

"Doing fine. Landry seems to have finished that theodolite, because they're out and surveying Bobby's property."

Dean said he was in the mood for White Zombie and popped a tape in.

Nobody said anything more until they pulled into Trinidad, Colorado.

~oo(0)oo~

As they sat around the table in the midst of sandwich fixings, Sam pondered the fact that the problem with Las Animas and Baca counties was that they were incredibly rural places. Trinidad was only about 15,000 people, and Springfield, the biggest city in Baca County, had less than 2000 people. Kim and Pritchett , the two towns closest to the mutilations were little more than a gas station surrounded by a few houses. If they wanted motels they would have to work out of Springfield or Trinidad. They could sleep in the Impala if they had to, but it was decidedly cold out, below freezing at night, and certainly cramped with the three of them in the car.

This was a get in, get it done, get out kind of job.

"What's our cover?" Dean asked around a mouthful of turkey and Swiss. "Agriculture? Fish and Game? The Bureau of Land Management?"

Sam swallowed his roast beef. "I'm thinking of something a bit different, less official. Like ... college students doing a research project on the Santa Fe Trail."

Dean grumbled, "You're shitting me."

"Do you think Tim here can pass as a government official?"

Dean scowled for a moment. "No. He'd need to work on it."

"Yeah, but how am I going to learn that sort of thing? Seems to me if you blow it and get caught ...?" Tim wiped at a smear of mustard below his lip. "I mean, I can turn on the charm, but nobody here gives a shit that I'm a Panther and we went to State."

"Dad taught Dean and me by having us play a lot of poker."

"Really?"

"Yup," Dean said. "It teaches you to control what you let show on your face."

"Well, it's going to have to be strip poker, because all I've got on me is 56 cents."

Dean choked on his Coke.

"What?" Sam and Tim asked in unison.

"That's all well and good," Dean said when he regained his composure, "but you two lovebirds would be playing to get naked."

Tim shot Dean a mock scowl. "Cockblocker."

Dean flipped him the bird. "Hater."

~oo(0)oo~

"I'll tell you one thing," Dean said, looking down at the body of a sheep. "This is no chupacabra."

Tim crouched next to him, stick in hand, and pointed at the massive neck wound. "How do you know?"

"Too big," Dean said. "A chupacabra's about the size of a medium-small dog, like a Cocker Spaniel."

"Yeah, but those little fuckers can bite if they want."

Dean slipped a glove on. Tim raised his eyebrows and then looked up at Sam.

Yeah, Sam also had a bad feeling about where this was going, and it felt as if a rock dropped into his stomach when Dean held up a slender, almost opalescent looking piece of a tooth and swore under his breath.

"So, what is it?" Tim asked, taking the tooth from Dean and studying it curiously. "Some sort of snake?"

"Vampire," Sam replied.

Tim's mouth opened and shut a few times in surprise.

"Yep, they're real, and just about everything you've heard about them is wrong."

"Figures," Tim grumbled. "So, what do I need to know?"

Dean counted on his fingers. "Garlic, holy water, stakes, crosses? No good. Sunlight bothers them. Slows them down, hurts them, disorients them, but it doesn't make them burst in to flames. Dead man's blood poisons them, so it's useful when you've got to interrogate them --"

"Does a woman's blood work, too? Why do you try to capture them?"

"Dead person's blood," Sam amended. "And because they usually live in packs -- you need to find the nest and destroy it."

Dean hawked and spat. "They're stronger, faster, immortal, can see in the dark, hear a heartbeat a block a way, and have a sense of smell that puts a bloodhound to shame.

"The only way to kill them is to whack their heads off, or shoot them in a place that would kill a human with The Colt."

Tim made a rueful face and snorted.

"Vampirism is a virus," Sam explained. "If you get their blood in you, by drinking it or getting in your eyes or an open wound, you'll get infected and you'll turn." Pause. "A girl we had to put down a few months ago described it like a high you can't come down from."

Tim shrugged, "So, what's the downside? Why aren't we trying to get vamped?"

"You frenzy," Dean said low and deadly. "The craving for blood is almost impossible to control. That girl we put down? We caught her because she left a trail of bodies for us to follow. She didn't really remember killing them, either. Thought it was part of her bad trip.

"It makes you an animal, is what it does." At Sam's sigh, Dean continued, "Okay, yeah, we met this one vamp named Lenore. She and her pack had sworn off humans, but they're the one exception we know of, and they probably killed a lot of people before they stopped. But, they're not human. Not anymore."

"I don't think this is her or her pack," Sam said. "Too messy. I think they learned their lesson after Montana."

Tim circled the body and said, "I thought you said vamps eat people."

"Vamps can live on non-human blood. They just don't like the taste." Sam put his hands in his pockets and scuffed the ground in thought. "I wonder if this is maybe a newly turned vamp, separated from its maker, struggling with it."

"Might be," Dean shrugged. "What do you want to do?"

"Contact it. Lenore left me a way to get in touch with her so that we could warn her about possible Hunters headed her way, but it's roundabout."

"But how are we going to find it, or them, if you can't get in touch with Lenore quickly?" Tim asked.

"Look for ravens or vultures," Dean explained, pointing to where several circled overhead. "They always know where a fresh kill is."

Nor did it take long for the scavengers to start stepping in. Sam was barely 30 feet away when he heard the flap of wings.

~oo(0)oo~

After two days of hard work in the cold and wind -- the only good things being spooning with Tim (who liked the novelty of being held by somebody larger than him) and giving each other a quick handjob in the morning -- they finally tracked the vampire to a ratty looking isolated doublewide, that, like most things in Baca County, had seen better days. A few rusting junkers were parked around it. Sam thought that the red pickup might still run, the tags on it were only slightly out of date.

It was afternoon, so the vamp would still be sleeping. A good time to enter its lair.

Dean quietly picked the lock and they crept in, guns drawn, Tim bringing up the rear. This vamp might have sworn off humans, but Sam didn't believe in being too trusting, either.

They found her in the master bedroom, sprawled across the bed.

Even in the dim light they could see it was Kate.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Sam could tell by the set of Dean's shoulders that he voted for "waste the bitch now." Sam shook his head and held up a hand, forestalling Dean, because he wondered what could have gotten her to switch to sheep and cows after centuries of positively reveling in her lifestyle. She had turned vamp and never looked back ... but perhaps now she had.

"We should kill her _now_," Dean whispered.

"What if she's changed?" Sam whispered back.

They locked stares, each willing the other to back down.

"Her eye just opened," Tim said softly.

Damnit. Sam took a deep breath and said calmly, "Look, I know there's bad blood between us ...."

"Bad blood?" She hissed, sitting up. Hatred laced her words.

Dean stuck his chin out and said, "So, did you kill the people who lived here?"

She glared at them for a long moment. "No." She spat the word. "It was abandoned when I found it."

Dean gave an "okay, I'll buy that" nod and asked, "So, livestock these days? What made you change your mind?"

A look of bitter rage contorted her proud features. "Navajo woman cursed me as she died."

"Oh." The word numbly fell from Sam's lips.

Slowly Kate scooted to the edge of the bed. In the light that filtered in from the hallway, Sam could now see how gaunt and unkempt she was, dressed in filthy, bloodstained clothes. Her hair hung in stringy tangles. They studied each other for several moments, her eyes filled with such loathing and contempt that Sam sighed inwardly, sensing that offers to help her find Lenore's pack would fall on deaf ears.

And while that curse may have bound her against eating humans, Sam didn't want to see if it prevented her from attacking them out of revenge.

She sniffed the air. "Who's the new one?"

"My name is Tim."

"You smell like Sam, Tim." Pause. "You his man?"

Ice formed in the pit of Sam's stomach.

Tim gave a cocky smile and coolly replied, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

She launched herself at him, fangs barred, knife drawn from the top of her boot.

Dean spun, ripping the blackout curtains from the window, brightening the room, but since it faced north, it was not enough to hurt her badly, while Sam fired, clipping her at least once, but the injury was an inconvenience at best.

She grabbed at Tim, knife slashing wildly, as he dodged and turned, bringing his own pistol up and around in an attempt to strike her, but her inhuman speed and strength were no match for him. She grabbed his arm, bent it painfully up and around, driving Tim to his knees, and placed the knife to his throat.

Never had Sam so keenly felt the loss of his gifts. Again and again and again he reached in vain for the place they used to be, only to find nothing.

Tim, however, didn't waste a moment on panic. As Kate locked her baleful, triumphant gaze on him and Dean, out of the corner of his eye Sam saw Tim reach down and back, grabbing the knife Dean had given him. In an instant he had it flipped around for left handed use, thumbed it open, and with one quick pull, he laid Kate's knife arm open to the bone. She shrieked in pain and the knife fell from her hand as Tim exploded into action, standing, snapping around, legs driving, slamming her into the wall so hard that the thin particle board cracked and buckled.

But she was still a vampire, unnaturally strong and fast. Kicking out, striking with her fists, she knocked Tim aside and scrambled for the door.

Sam and Dean unloaded several rounds, dropping her, and then pumped several more rounds into her before she could regain her feet.

Shaking with adrenaline, Tim climbed to his feet, recovered his pistol, and shot her knees out. "Do I need to hamstring her for good measure?" he asked, brandishing the knife.

"I'll get the machete," Dean said. He opened the window and hopped out.

To her credit, she fought to the end.

~oo(0)oo~

"Are you cut, Tim?" Dean asked, machete still in hand, all business.

"I ... don't think so," Tim said, looking a little pale and shaky now that the rush had worn off. He still kept his eyes still fixed on Kate's headless body, though, as if he didn't quite believe she was dead.

"Dean!" Sam hissed, appalled.

Dean's eyes bored into his, voice weary he said, "We have to be sure, Sam. We have to be sure."

Sam swallowed hard and prayed. To what, to whom, he didn't know. He just prayed.

"Did any get into your mouth? Your eyes?" Dean continued. Kate had flung blood wildly in an effort to infect them when Dean approached her to deliver the killing blow. It was a good thing they hadn't managed to give her a bloody mouth, because she would have spat it at them.

"No." Tim bit off the word. "And I didn't get any up my nose, either. I'm not going to vamp out on you." Pause. "But if I did, I'd turn you before I went looking for dinner."

Sam sighed. "That's what you like to think."

"And the idea of being vamped still isn't much of a comfort," Dean said.

To Sam, it was. He wondered if vampires still had souls.

(Probably. Damn it.)

"What?" Tim asked, still looking down at the body. "You don't want to be young forever?"

Dean shook his head. "It's a moot point -- the price is too high. You ... you stop being human, Tim. Really. And you'll spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder."

Tim looked at him. "I'm doing that now. So are you."

"In 10 years you can go back to Texas. This isn't like being a vampire from some Anne Rice novel." Dean replied.

"Who?" Tim asked.

"Somebody whose books I am never, ever, reading to you," Sam said, wondering how the hell Dean knew Anne Rice. Dean snickered at that, and Sam continued, "There's a reason we've hunted them nearly to extinction, Tim. You've never seen these things on a rampage. We have."

Tim pursed his lips in thought. "Okay, I get it."

No you don't, not really, until you've seen it, Sam thought.

Dean gloved up and went through the kitchen, looking for salt. He also took a dish towel and wiped down anything he thought they might have touched. "We'll salt her and torch this place. You two get in the car while I rig a delay that should let us get back to the highway before this thing really gets going." He pushed the front door open with his foot.

As Tim climbed into the back seat, Sam said to him, "You did good in there today. Kept your cool, didn't lose your head."

Tim guffawed and said, "I'm glad you think so, because for a moment there I thought I was going to wet myself." He cleared his throat. "But it was after I shot her, and I stood back and realized ...." He shuddered and shook his head. "So, how do I clean my knife to make sure it doesn't infect anybody?"

Yeah, it was a lucky thing that Dean had given Tim that knife. "Bleach," Sam said, "Swish it through bleach for at least a minute and then rinse it really well."

Dean climbed behind the wheel, started the car, and drove steadily, but not excessively fast down the dirt road that lead back to the highway. They were on the road and cruising towards Springfield at a steady 65 when the first black smoke became visible in the rear-view mirror.

Five minutes later, the adrenaline hit Sam. Within a minute, all of them were shaking in their seats.

It would be Sunday night and dark when they got back to Springfield. Sam didn't know what Dean had planned, but he needed to have Tim as soon as they got a hotel room. He glanced over into the back seat and saw the same thing burning in Tim's eyes. _Damn._ He had half a mind to climb into the back seat and get started on taking the edge off.

Dean muttered "For medicinal purposes," reached into his jacket, and handed Sam the flask.


	7. Chapter 7

Tim didn't waste much time when he got in the room. Simply started shucking his clothes and turned around a few times. "See, no cuts." He glanced down at a spot on his ribs. "Shit. That's going to be one hell of a bruise." He looked up and the molten heat in his eyes turned Sam's mouth cottony dry.

"I guess this is where I exit, stage left," Dean muttered, his eyes flitting over to Tim several times and then just as quickly away.

Tim cocked his head, looked at Dean and then Sam, and then looked back at Dean and said, "You don't have to. You can go if you like, or stay if you like -- if Sam's good with it." He looked back at Sam and lifted an eyebrow.

(I will always be good with it, _and he knows it somehow_ ... that's the trouble.)

"But ... you and Sam ..." Dean began, but it was weak.

Tim smiled at him. "It's fucking Sunday night in a one-horse town. You're a friend in need." Tim's gaze zeroed in on the bulge in Dean's snug jeans.

Dean lifted an eyebrow. "A friend with privileges."

"Yeah. Sometimes."

Dean nodded and started undressing.

Tim laid on the bed then rolled on to his side and looked at the both of them. After a moment of hesitation, Dean joined Tim on the bed, facing him. Sam watched, mouth suddenly gone sandy dry as they reached for each other.

"Sam?" Tim asked after a moment.

"I-I ..." Sam couldn't put the words into his mouth. "You two ... so hot ... I ...."

Tim laughed, but Dean paused, and Sam could see the doubt gathering in his eyes.

Sam took a few hesitant steps forward. He couldn't speak. He ....

Part of the reason he rarely went looking for a girl after a Hunt stemmed from the fact that it was too raw, his need. Right now he wanted to pounce on Tim and pound him through the mattress, just grab him and drill right in. _Use him._

It frightened him. It always had.

And what if they saw it? Saw how massive and raging and unrefined it was? Saw the beast lurking just below the surface? Because, really, he was this close to losing it. That was the worst fear, really. Having somebody else see what he was on the inside.

On autopilot, his fingers moved, undressing himself. Sam climbed onto the bed and tucked in behind Tim, and at the first touch of heated flesh to heated flesh, need roared back, drowning out the voice of fear.

"I want you to put your leg over Dean's hip," Sam whispered in Tim's ear, as he pressed his fingers to Tim's mouth, and it was manna to his soul when Tim gave a knowing, throaty chuckle and sucked them in. He dropped a few kisses on Tim's shoulder.

Dean caught his eye, his look questioning.

"He likes this a lot, what I'm going to do. You'll see."

A truth borne out when Tim groaned a low, rumbly "Ohhhhhh Sam" as the first spit-slick finger pressed in. Sam couldn't contain his own hiss as Tim moaned and clenched around him as he slowly stroked it in and out. "So good, just like that," Tim whispered.

"Take care of Dean," Sam said back, guiding Tim's hand down, careful not to touch Dean, but it thrilled him to the core all the same to be the one closing Tim's hand around Dean's cock.

(All of Dean, none of the guilt.)

He continued to thrust his finger in and out of Tim, who stroked Dean with the same rhythm. Sam shifted up on his elbow, the better to see the expressions on their faces: Dean, eyes closed, mouth open slightly, breath panting out in little puffs; Tim, eyes cat-like slits, a dreamy smile curving his full mouth.

Dean's hand reached down, heading for Tim's cock, but Sam stayed it, causing Dean to start. "No. Just me." Sam said.

"Oh Sam, that's just not fair to the poor guy," Dean laughed and reached once more.

Sam stopped him. "No."

(_Mine._)

"Whatever, man." Dean snorted. "He's your boyfriend."

Boyfriend --?

No, not ... well, yeah, actually.

Tim whimpered as Sam sped up. "Please, Sam," his whisper was papery, "I've got to -- you can't just -- I need more."

"Shh." Sam smoothed a lock of hair back from Tim's forehead and drove a second finger in. Tim's eyes screwed shut as he gasped in pleasure, his cock twitching and giving a fresh spurt of wet.

"Sogood sogood sogood, " Tim panted with each breath, body twitching, almost breaking rhythm on Dean. Sam drove in harder and deeper than he'd ever done before and Tim all but convulsed. "OhGod! Do that again!" he yelped. "Like that!" he half-chanted snapping his hips to meet Sam, when Sam found a rhythm.

Sam reached under and around and ... Tim was so hard and so ready--

"Please, please, please," Tim begged

\-- Sam drove in deep one last time, crooking his fingers, and smiled when Tim cried out and arched and bucked and came in his hand.

A few moments later, Dean who had been thrusting to meet Tim's hand, groaned and shot, half in Tim's hand, half on Tim's abdomen. "What about you, Sam?" Dean said, after he stopped shaking and got his breath.

Sam didn't respond to him, just looked Tim in the eye, asking -- no, telling him what he wanted.

A long pause followed and Sam could see the struggle in Tim's eyes. Finally he swallowed hard and gave Sam a barely perceptible nod. Sam climbed off the bed and one-handedly fished Dean's wallet out of his jeans, opened it and took a condom out. "Put it on?" he asked, handing it to Tim.

He sucked in several deep breaths when Tim got it out of the package and rolled it down Sam's length. Sam kept his gaze firmly fixed on the indifferent painting of a western landscape over the bed for several heartbeats after; he didn't dare look down at Tim, it would all be over if he did. When Tim removed his hands, Sam's eyes flicked over to Dean, who wore a certain sleepy satisfaction, as if it were an everyday thing to see his younger brother naked, achingly hard, and about to fuck another guy. Part of Sam laughed inwardly at that. Dean had never seen him do more than give a few kisses to a girl, utterly acceptable public displays of affection, and here he was getting ready to .... And he didn't feel the least bit shy about it, didn't mind that Dean watched. He wanted Dean to see.

Clearing his throat he bent and whispered in Tim's ear, "I, um, hear it's easier on you if you're face down."

Tim nodded, the look in his eyes distant, closed off.

"Are you really cool with this?" Sam asked.

(Oh please don't let him change his mind. Not now.)

A long sigh. "Yeah ..." Tim rolled over.

Tim's come had cooled and gone a bit goopy in Sam's hand, but it was all he had to use, so he slicked himself with it, knelt between Tim's spread legs, gripped his hips, and pulled up a little, positioning him, and then guided himself to the entrance. He paused for a beat and then pushed slowly and firmly in. It was harder than he would have liked, the push he had to give to get in --

(So clenched, so tight, not like a woman, which gave a gentle grip from root to tip, but a tight ring of muscle around the base ... different, but good all the same.)

\-- and caused Tim to shut his eyes tight and pant through clenched teeth, and reach out for Dean, taking his hand, gripping it tightly for a moment before relaxing.

"We still good? Sam asked. Because he would stop if Tim said to, but oh how he wanted this. It was doing things for him deep in his soul. Tim, mule stubborn, blue collar, raised to be a "man", Tim letting him have this, giving it to him, taking Sam deep inside. An act that was probably scarier to him in some ways than the monster they had just faced down. Sam trembled with the intensity of what it meant to him.

Tim blew out a long breath and opened his eyes. "Just ... give me a moment to adjust."

"Tell me when."

Tim took another long breath, held it a beat, and pushed it out. "Okay."

Sam gave his hips a twitch.

"Oh, Jesus, Sam ... _that's_ ... you have no idea what it's like. No. Idea." Tim's voice grew breathy.

Sam counted to three and began with a slow, gentle stroke, watching the reactions play across what he could see of Tim's face. He switched to faster and deeper, went short and sharp, then switched back to long and slow and deep, drinking it in, the expressions of wonderment and pleasure, watched as they turned to ecstasy, made them ebb and flow, and watching it all on Tim's face added to it for Sam, Tim's pleasure becoming his pleasure, too.

And Dean's, Sam realized, when Dean, who kept his eyes firmly locked on Tim's, brought his hand up and tenderly brushed a lock of hair back from Tim's forehead. The two of them sharing something in the look between them, an understanding that Sam only caught a glimpse of -- it wasn't meant for him, wasn't about him -- but it showed him a new bit of Dean and a new bit of Tim, but he knew one thing for certain, the look that Tim had given Dean was not the same as the one he had given Sam that day in the truck. That was his and his alone and he felt thrilled to know that.

But it wasn't all pure and chaste and profound revelation. This was still sex. And Sam could see Dean coming up again, and he had an inkling that Tim had gotten hard again, too, so he shifted his weight back, tugging up on Tim's hips, Tim's slightly frustrated mutter confirming it.

"No making a wet spot on the bed," he growled.

They all laughed.

Dean had gotten fully hard again, ready to go, and Sam --

(Dear God, he wanted.)

"Blow him, Tim," he rasped. "I want to see you --" The words choked off as Tim's body shook at the idea of it, and clenched down hard around him.

Meanwhile, Dean wasted no time scrambling for the head of the bed.

The sight of his eyes rolling up behind fluttering lashes as Tim took him in was just too much for Sam, who grabbed Tim's hips and slammed home three times hard and came so hard the world turned staticky around the edges.

When his heart stopped hammering in his ears, Sam shakily pulled out and in a fog he stripped the condom from his rapidly softening dick. He paused for a moment to enjoy the sight of Tim and Dean before climbing back on the bed and making Tim lift his hips. He reached around from behind, one hand hovering at the ready as he jerked Tim mercilessly hard and fast -- the way he liked -- and Tim gave a muffled, throaty sound and spilled in his hand a split second before Dean gave a sharp, "Oh, fuck!" and pulled out of Tim's mouth, coming in long, hard spurts all over his own belly.

Dean crawled back down to face Tim who had rolled back on his side (and laughed as Sam wiped his hand clean across Tim's chest and stomach).

"All sticky," Tim mumbled sleepily and happily.

Sam crawled up behind Tim and reached and fumbled the light off, glad that they had cranked the heat upon getting into the room, because he could already feel sleep pulling him down, and suspected that they were all too physically and emotionally spent for anything else at the moment.

~oo(0)oo~

He found himself sitting in an ornate and not very comfortable chair. No ... something this massive could only be called a throne. Above him stretched a roiling, sooty looking sky, and --

"Better to reign in Hell, right?" Ruby said.

Groan. "Hello, Ruby," Sam said, trying not to grumble too much.

She stepped in front of him and gave an impish grin. "What, don't like the digs?" She gestured and continued, "In Azazel's plans --"

"Azazel's plans don't matter anymore." Sam stood and ran a hand through his hair. "So ... can we go someplace else?"

"Maybe."

Before Sam could reply, they blinked into a large hall with a huge ... mirror ... in it. Sam knew somehow that that this was still Hell, or at least the Astral Plane of Hell, but gave up arguing the point with Ruby. There might be a reason she had chosen Hell for this meeting, something that would help Dean.

Her eyes were black pools when she looked at him again. "There's a lot of power in that throne, you know."

Whatever. And a lot of headaches, too. Besides, what was he supposed to do as the King of Hell? Storm the gates of Heaven? Spend the rest of eternity watching his back more like. "I know," he replied evenly, crossing his arms and lifting an eyebrow at Ruby, urging her to continue.

"This is the looking glass. Come see."

Sam found himself taken aback to see the three of them in that Colorado motel room, curled tightly together against the encroaching chill, still on top of the bedspread.

Ruby placed a hand on his shoulder. "You'd have him stand at your side, wouldn't you?" she purred. "The left hand side, of course. Dean would be your right hand man. You'd collar him, too, I think."

Sam looked over and snorted scornfully. "Not really into bondage."

"Sorry, that's not quite what I meant. I meant as a way of letting everyone know that he's _noli me tangere._" She tapped her lips thoughtfully. "Would you keep him naked? Little enough in Hell that's pleasing to look upon, and he's like an ... objet d'art, isn't he?"

Sam liked the idea so much it frightened him. "Why are we having this conversation?" he asked coldly.

Ruby shrugged delicately and pushed a lock of her impossibly perfect hair back. "Because it's been a little while since we last spoke, and because I thought you might want a glimpse of the other paths your life could have taken, still might take."

"It's gone, the demon blood. So, no."

She continued as if he hadn't spoken. "You're trying to mark him as yours -- that's why you like to come on him."

Sam smiled icily at her. "You make me sound like a dog pissing on a tree."

"You humans are ruled by instinct more than you like to admit." Her laughter was bell-like ... and cold. "All those grand notions and lofty ideals, but still, at the heart of it, you're slaves to your little meat suit impulses."

"And yet, your kind hop into our little meat suits every chance you get."

Ruby twirled and laughed again. "Touché"

Sam pressed in, glowering. "You take that hot body for a roll in the sack yet?"

She pouted. "Not since Bobby put a big old fatal bullet hole in it, no. It's a little hard to explain to potential partners."

Sam laughed.

The black in her eyes took on an ominous tinge. "Be seeing you."

~oo(0)oo~

He didn't wake, though, but drifted into a sort of nightmare about Dad finding out about him and Tim and not approving, calling him "unnatural."

But he didn't care. What he felt wasn't sorrow or fear.

Not really.

It was more like an annoyance or frustration, because he had been "unnatural" almost all his life, and, as Dad's truck roared off, he still had Tim at his side.

And that's what mattered.

~oo(0)oo~

The sound of Dean showering woke Sam early the next morning. He forced his eyes open and muttered under his breath and couldn't quite stop his hips from rubbing a little against Tim as he shifted. Yeah, the heat was on, but it was still almost winter on the high plains and the room was a little chilly.

Tim woke with a sudden jerk and groan.

"Everything okay?" Sam asked.

"No," Tim grumbled, "I slept too still all damn night."

Sam shook with repressed laughter.

"Not funny."

"Um ..."

The water turned off.

Tim slowly, stiffly, rolled to face him, smiled a bit crankily, and darted in, kissing him. "Bleh. Morning mouth."

"You smell like roses, too." Sam said with a laugh, and rolled his tongue around in his mouth, trying to get the juices flowing.

"I fart baby powder, too."

Sam snorted with mirth as he rolled to lie on his back. Oh yeah. It hurt and felt good at the same time -- he'd also slept too still. Tim draped a leg over his and idly trailed a finger down to Sam's belly button and then back up. Sam could feel him, hard and seeping against his hip. The bathroom door flew open and a fully dressed Dean emerged in a cloud of steam. He looked at them for a moment, leered, and said, "I'm going out for breakfast. I'll be back in --" he glanced at his watch "10 minutes. Should be plenty of time for you two."

They flipped him the bird in unison.

"Right." He grinned for real this time. "I'll be back in an hour. I'll get you some breakfast burritos or something to go."

Dean barely got the door shut before Tim climbed on top. "So, like 55 minutes of sex and then a shower dance?"

Sam smiled back up at him. "That sounds about right. What do you have in mind?"

Tim leaned down and kissed him. "I'm ... um ... a little tender." He blushed. "So, as much as I like the idea of climbing on and going for a ride, that's going to have to wait. "

"Yeah."

"So, I was thinking that you can get me off," he picked up Sam's hand and wrapped it around his prick, starting to thrust, "And then I'll blow you and give you the magic fingers."

"Sounds great," Sam said, gripping Tim firmly and pumping to match his thrusts.

~oo(0)oo~

"Are you sure I was doing it right?" Tim asked, between bouts of scrubbing at his teeth with the brush.

Sam rinsed and spit. The sight of Tim kneeling before him, sucking his own fingers and seeing them head _there_ had been hot, and it had felt ... interesting, not unpleasant, but .... "Look, maybe I'm just not wired the way you are."

"Or maybe I'm not doing it right because when you do, it's ... incredible," Tim said wistfully.

Sam shrugged and tapped his toothbrush dry on the sink. "Sure."

Tim opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind and stayed strangely silent until Dean got back. Even as he chowed down on the food he seemed reserved, even for him. When he frowned in thought several times, Sam made a note to speak to him, and pulled him aside when Dean went to the office to settle the bill.

"What's wrong?"

Tim chewed his lip, the expression in his eyes bleak. "I was thinking that ... that now I know why girls --"

(_Oh shit._)

Sam decided to play dumb. "Puts you ahead of the curve, then, doesn't it?" When the look in those hazel eyes grew stormy in response to the flippant remark, he continued, voice low, urgent, "Look, Tim, I don't think of you as less, okay? You're not ..." he had to force the words out, "my bitch or something. I think of you as _more_ because of it -- and we'll finish this conversation sometime later when Dean's not around to overhear it and roast us about it the rest of our lives."

"Roast you about what?" Dean asked, popping some corn nuts in his mouth.

"None of your concern," Sam said.

"Mighty cruel of you to just assume the worst about me."

Tim flashed him a tight smile. "We know you too well."

Dean laughed at that. Then said, "So, what do you two think of Arizona, like Sun City or Phoenix? It's warm down there, and Bobby thinks he's got a line on some hauntings. Like some ghosts who were so senile when they died they don't realize they're dead."

Well, actually, that wasn't as farfetched as it seemed. "Sounds good," Sam said.

~oo(0)oo~

Bobby called them just outside of Santa Fe. "How'd he do against the chupacabra?"

Sam groaned. "Great, except that it wasn't a chupa. A Vamp. Kate, to be exact."

Bobby swore.

"Yeah, that's about the size and shape of it. But he did awesome. Told you he needed a field trial to start shining."

Bobby mmm'd and asked, "What now?"

"Greater Phoenix area. Dean thinks he can rustle up some ghosts and we won't have to shovel snow."

"I don't have to shovel snow these days at all." Pause. "That's what Tyra and Landry are for."

Sam laughed. "So, for reals, what's up?"

"Well," Bobby sighed, and Sam could all but see him scratch under his cap. "Tyra and Landry are still trooping hither and yon. A new issue of Discover came in and it had some little article in it about this math thing called E and something that exists in 141 dimensions, and Landry's all happy about it. And he's also working on some project to do with the Seal of Solomon and Devil's Traps and Tyra's showing a real knack for picking up ancient tongues. I keep telling them not to fix what ain't broke, but ...." Bobby's complaint had no real heat to it, but actually affection. "Tyra's also good with the customers, too. The salvage and wrecking's going pretty good now that the roads are iced up. I'm going to teach her how to use the tow hook soon.

"But," Bobby's voice turned grim. "Short of summoning a demon, I am running out of ideas, Sam. I'm still working on a few leads, but they're very slender --"

"Keep looking," Sam couldn't keep the heat out of his voice.

Bobby huffed, "I will, Sam. You know that. But ... I love you boys, you know that. But I really don't like to truck with demon kind."

"I understand. It's a last ditch thing. I know." Sam forced the despair away.

They would find something. They had to.

They would. Period.

"I'll call you in a week or so."

"Thanks, Bobby. For everything." He clicked his phone shut.

"What last ditch thing?" Dean asked.

Sam raked a hand through his hair. "What do you think?"

"Goddamn it, Sammy, I told --"

"I'm not drunk enough to listen to you two fight," Tim cut in. "And I'm broke." He held out his hand. "So, pass the flask, pony up, or _shut up_."

"You're a rotten bastard," Dean muttered.

"That's what it says in the dictionary next to Riggins. Time you learned what that meant."

Sam snickered.

"Don't get too cocky, Sam," Tim said. "You're not getting a pass on this, either. You can pony up or put up, too, because I am not putting up with this shit."

He smiled at Tim. "I'll 'embrace the suck', promise."

Tim leaned over the seat back and whispered in his ear, "Speaking of suck ..."

Sam laughed and pushed him back down.


	8. Chapter 8

"I think we should stick around for a few weeks," Dean said when they hit the greater Phoenix sprawl.

Budget Suites here we come, Sam thought darkly.

"Y'know, get a home base, give Tim some more schooling in the tricks of the trade."

That sounded like more than a few weeks, actually. So perhaps not a Budget Suites, but maybe a double wide, or even a house (in a sketchy neighborhood, of course). Sam looked over at Dean and raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe even get a job."

"Now you're pushing it," Sam deadpanned. He glanced over his shoulder at Tim, who hadn't said much of anything for the last three hours and seemed content, for now, to watch the great swathes of stucco covered tract housing roll by. However, Sam wouldn't be surprised if Tim could repeat the key points of what he and Dean had said several days from now. He was good that way.

They pulled over in a Flying J to get the lay of the land. Truckers were gossips, and perhaps there was something going on here, or maybe a few cities down the road. Tim idly glanced at a local paper's listing of places for rent.

"What's that?" Sam asked, pointing to an ad in the wanted section. "They seem to be paying pretty good for cleaning services."

"That's because it's crime scene cleanup," Tim replied, reading the fine print.

Dean reached for the paper. "Let me see that. You know, it might be a good way to see if there's anything going on here in town and this place starts at ... _holy shit_, $17 an hour!"

"They probably background check you," Sam countered. "We need to stay off of Big Brother's radar."

Dean glared at him and said, "I'm still going for it."

Inwardly Sam seethed. It was a useless, stupid risk that Dean was planning to take here ... primarily because he wasn't planning on being around to deal with the fallout. "Fine." Sam bit off the word.

"I'm going to take Tim if he's interested. He needs to see how ... things can get."

Ice formed inside of Sam. He didn't want Tim seeing how ugly things could get, didn't want him to have to learn how to turn his humanity on and off, even though the rational part of him knew it was something Tim needed to learn. But it was no use arguing it right here, right now. He sighed in defeat. "Okay."

"What are you planning?" Tim asked.

"I'm going to see if the local library is hiring, or maybe a bookstore."

"That's Sammy for you," Dean snorted, "always about the books."

~oo(0)oo~

Tim's career in crime-scene cleanup lasted three weeks and ended with a particularly brutal case, that according to Dean, was a shotgun suicide which had gone undiscovered for a week or two in a heated house, and in the mean time, the person's cats had gotten hungry.

All Sam knew was that Tim, who had been increasingly distant and sullen recently, staggered into their crappy house down by the train tracks one morning at 3am, reeling drunk. Sam patiently wiped his mouth with a clean washcloth between bouts of puking, eventually forced some aspirin and water down Tim's throat, and left him curled up around the toilet. Then he fired up the coffee pot and sat in one of the ratty orange vinyl kitchen chairs, waiting for Dean to show. When he did shortly after 5am (smelling of cigarettes and whiskey, marked with hickeys) and explained what had happened, Sam calmly told him that Tim was not going back to work with him.

"Ted gave us the next two days off. He'll be better after the shock's worn off."

"He's not going back. I can tell you that now."

Dean shrugged. "Ted's gonna miss him."

"Fuck Ted sideways!" Sam hissed. "Open your goddamned eyes, Dean. This job, it's killing him. He can't do it, Dean. He's not cut out for it." You're not the one having to deal with the look in his eyes. You haven't noticed, but he's starting to drink again, starting to need to."

"He's got to --"

"He can learn it some other way!" Sam roared, slamming his fist on the counter hard enough to crack the worn laminate.

~oo(0)oo~

Ted turned out to be a good guy, yes, he would miss Tim, but he could see that this job wasn't the right thing. However, he had an idea of what might be -- Disaster Masters house cleaning.

"How'd it go?" Sam asked when Tim returned from his first day on the new job.

"You wouldn't believe the crap that some people let pile up in their home," Tim said a voice that bordered on awe. "I mean, Billy and me were never neatniks, but ...." He shook his head. "This old guy had four junker TVs sitting in his front room, buried under piles and piles of paper and clothes and just _stuff_. I mean, he must have had a forest's worth of magazines in there. We've got his front room pretty well cleared out, and the guest room, and the kitchen, too -- lots of mummified food in there -- but ... _daaamn._"

Sam studied him for a moment then handed him a cold soda. "Yeah. I've read about people like that." Pause. "Do you know what happened?"

Tim gave him a sad half-smile. "His wife died a few years back. He told me all about her as I was sorting through his things. They have a son, but he lives in New Zealand." Tim shrugged. "I think he mostly just needs somebody to listen to him. I know he'll probably just go back to pack-ratting, but at least he'll keep his place a little while longer." He sighed. "It's all we can do."

"Yeah, you can't fix the world." Sam scrubbed tiredly at his eyes.

"No, you can't." Tim guzzled the bottle dry. "You just embrace the suck and find a way get through."

"You're a good listener, probably why that guy picked you to open up to." Really, you are, and I _still_ can't tell you all about Dean and how scared and angry I am. But maybe you know all that. You're good at picking up on the things that people don't say, Tim.

Tim cleared his throat and said, "Um ... I've been making notes, you know, writing down some ideas like you said to, so that --" he pulled out the small Moleskine that Sam had gotten him a few weeks earlier. "I took --" he sucked in a deep breath "I took down the address of that -- the bad job. Something about that place just gave me the creeps before I even went in. Everybody mentioned that, too. We all felt creeped out."

"It's not a bad idea to do a little of our kind of clean up after a suicide. Sometimes, we find things," Sam said forcing his voice to remain steady.

Tim glanced back down at the notebook. "Her name was Marlene Ahlquist."

~oo(0)oo~

Three nights later -- Dean was working an extra late shift -- Sam packed a bag with the basics and they boarded a crosstown bus. Four transfers. Tim muttered something about how nice it would be to have a car of his own again. Sam didn't have the heart to say that they probably wouldn't be here more than a month or two more, so no need, really. Instead he said that yeah, he missed having a car, but that he also missed the excellent BART system from his days in the Bay Area.

"Are we ever going to go there?" Tim asked. "It'd be neat to see the Golden Gate, cable cars, and Fisherman's wharf."

Sam snorted, and hurt flashed for a brief second in Tim's eyes. Shit. "I wasn't laughing at you. I was laughing at the fact that I was there for almost four years and still didn't see a lot of it." He glanced up at an ad on the ceiling and continued, "I'd like to go back to the Muir Woods -- ancient giant redwoods. There's a stand of them across the bridge. Jess and I took a trip there once."

Tim picked a hole just over the knee in his jeans. "Do you think a case will ever take us there?" he asked. "Because ... before this, before you guys, I never really saw anything. Dallas for State and a jaunt to Mexico with Jason, but mostly? Just the roads between Dillon and the teams we played."

Sam looked him in the eye. Such hope in those ever shifting hazel depths. Still. "Well, I can't exactly say that I had a great childhood, but yeah, one of the good things that came out of it was that Dean and I have seen every state in the lower 48."

"Like all those places you see in movies and TV?"

"Anything in particular you'd like to see?"

Tim flashed a brilliant smile. "Well, we'd better wait on the Alamo. But how about Grand Canyon, or some of that Civil War stuff?" He pursed his lips in thought. "Is any of it, you know --"

"Been taken care of years ago."

His face fell. "Oh."

Sam laughed inwardly at the disappointment in Tim's tone. "And every now and again, there's one that you leave behind. Deadwood, for instance, has a ghost, but he's a protector."

"Really? Cool."

~oo(0)oo~

The spirits who inhabited the 1950's ranch-style house where Marlene Ahlquist killed herself were anything but benevolent protectors. Fortunately, they weren't particularly powerful, but living in a house with them polluting the psychic atmosphere had probably pushed that poor woman over the edge. Sam felt sure that if he did a history on the property he'd find a long chain of violence and misery.

Sam felt a certain thrill as Tim calmly stepped up and held the spirits at bay with a few well timed blasts of rock salt while he took care of the rest. When they had dispelled them with a salt and burn of a lock of hair they found tucked in a closet, Sam took out his pocket knife and carved a few small hexes in the doorjambs and windowsills to prevent anything from moving back in. The house probably wasn't going to get more than a day with the Merry Maids and a repaint before it got put back on the market, so at least the next occupants had a good chance of protection.

They boarded the bus back to their side of town giddy and twitching with suppressed emotion. But Sam could see it in Tim's eyes -- the pride of a job well done.

The bus's route took them past the noise and lights of a street fair near the university. Seized by a whim, he tugged at Tim's arm. "Let's go."

~oo(0)oo~

He saw it resting on a bed of velvet while Tim stood in line a couple of booths over, getting them horchatas.

He decided to buy it when he noticed the blue stones in the eyes. "How much?"

"Two fifty. It's a one of a kind piece. I don't normally do pieces like this -- don't know what possessed me to give it a try."

Sam winced when he heard the price, a whole week's paycheck for him, but it was just ... he ran his finger over the elegant spiraling twist worked into the metal. "I'll take it," he replied, reaching for his wallet.

The booth's owner unpinned it and handed to him. It had a surprising heft. "It's surgical stainless with 18k gold on the wire inlay. So, it's not going to rust or anything. The eyes are iolites. Do you need help getting it on?"

Sam grinned. "It's not for me. It's a gift for him." He pointed at Tim.

"Boyfriend?"

Sam swallowed hard. "Yes." His voice was squeakier than he'd like.

A smile. "You make a nice couple. I hope he likes it."

~oo(0)oo~

Tim's eyes grew huge when Sam showed it to him in the bedroom after they got home. "What is it?"

"It's a torc. The Vikings and Celts wore them."

Tim turned it over in his hands a few times, brow furrowed in puzzlement.

"It goes on your neck."

Tim shot him a slightly miffed look. "I figured that. I'm just ... I don't know what to say. I .... _Why?_"

Sam reached over and ruffled Tim's hair, longer now, and darker, almost his color at the roots because of winter and long days indoors. "Because I thought you'd dig the panthers. Because ... it will look good on you. It fits you somehow."

"So, how do we get it on?"

"I'm not one hundred percent certain, but I think it goes like this," Sam took it and pulled gently.

Because of the high steel content, it took a little muscle, but they finally got it flexed into place, the snarling panthers facing each other just across the notch at the base of Tim's throat. He rolled his shoulders a few times, adjusting to the weight of it.

"It's kind of heavy, but I like it." His eyes flicked down and to the side before darting back up and meeting Sam's shyly through his long bangs. "It feels ... permanent."

Sam put his finger under Tim's chin, tilting his head up and kissed him tenderly. When they broke, he said, "Yeah, I like the idea that you can't just slip it on and off anytime you like." His voice turned smoky, "It looks good on you. I want to see you wearing it." He left "and nothing else" unspoken.

Tim's eyes blazed almost amber with sudden heat. "Yeah."

~oo(0)oo~

_He looks like a statue come to life_, Sam thought as Tim stepped out of his jeans and into a shaft of moonlight that happened to slip past the blinds. He even thought he saw a brief twinkle from the stones in the panthers' eyes.

With barely more than a word than "Let me," Tim stripped the clothes from Sam, worshiping each inch of revealed skin with his eyes, and then pressed him to lie back on the covers as he licked and kissed his way down to Sam's cock, which he sucked to an aching hardness before he rolled on a condom and rode him long and slow, Sam lying still (because Tim kept his hands pinned to the bed) and it seemed like he was floating ever upwards on waves of pleasure and he wondered what he had ever done to deserve this.

(You fell in love, stupid.)

When Tim got close, he released Sam's hands, and Sam grasped him, pumping in time to Tim's rocking, his other hand steady on that lean hip, grasping. Three hard downward jolts and Sam came, bucking up hard, eyes rolling back in his head, sending Tim over the edge, collapsing onto him, panting, both of them now slick with sweat and semen.

Utterly spent, Sam barely managed to pull out and get the condom off and into the wastebasket, before sleep pulled him under. His last thought was that he fully expected Ruby to show up and make some I-told-you-so remark about having "collared" Tim.

Instead, he woke the next morning to find Tim already gone to work and an envelope with his name on the nightstand.

It contained the results of some tests that Tim had been required to take in order to get his job doing crime scene cleanup.

Negative for Hepatitis A, B, C.

Negative for HIV.

Sam hit the internet and found a place to get himself tested.

~oo(0)oo~

Christmas came and went without much fanfare. It had never been a big holiday for Sam and Dean, and it held bitter memories for Tim. The days had settled into a rhythm by then. Work. Train. Eat. Sex. Sleep. (Research ways to get Dean out of his bargain.)

Sometime in March Sam had to admit that things had fallen into ... a sort of cozy domesticity. Certainly not the usual kind, but the closest to it that he'd ever get.

The most exciting thing that happened was a phone call from Bobby in February. Apparently Landry had figured out how a Seal of Solomon worked.

"I think it might be possible to construct something like that on the fly; Landry's made a pretty good case for it. So, you know when --" Bobby cleared his throat. "For, you know."

"Yeah, but how do you plan to test that theory?" Sam hated to sound like a killjoy, but he didn't want the agony of false hope.

Bobby had sighed, and Sam could all but see him scratching under his cap. "Yeah, there is that .... When the time comes near, you bring Dean up here. We can keep him safe."

"That's what I was thinking. Only, he's not going to go willingly."

Bobby snorted. "Then bring him kicking and screaming." Then. "I'll have Landry email you that explanation of his. You might find it useful."

"Thanks. I'm working on something, too."

(Something so scary I can't really admit it to myself.)

~oo(0)oo~

Things went downhill when April rolled around.

The clock was ticking, and Dean suggested that they go to Lake Havasu for spring break.

"We're not college students," Sam pointed out.

"So?" Dean shrugged. "It's not like they're checking student IDs at the beach or something."

And then Tim took Dean's side. "You need to live a little, Sam. Lately, you've been all work and no play."

That stung. "No play?" Sam said in a quiet voice. "Yeah, we can do that."

Tim looked at him and sighed heavily then turned to Dean and piffed air up through his too-long bangs.

Dean slung an arm around Tim and said, "Well, Tim and I are going to go. I've been meaning to spend a bit more time with him. Show him a few more things."

"Fine." Sam spat the word.

Tim shrugged and headed to the couch, sprawling on it before he turned on ESPN. He looked up at Sam.

Sam turned and went to the bedroom, closing the door.

~oo(0)oo~

"No play, remember?" Sam rolled on his side, away from Tim, when he came to bed and kissed him.

"What?"

"I'm a dull boy."

Tim let out a long breath. "You have got to be kidding," he said after a moment.

"Oh, I'm serious."

"But ..." and Sam could picture the hurt puppy look on Tim's face, "sex isn't play. It's ... sex."

He had a point, but Sam had vowed not to cave. "I'm a dull boy."

"Have it your way," Tim grumbled and turned over.

They still woke up snuggled together.

~oo(0)oo~

Sam knew that Tim had a stubborn streak, it was one of the ways he was like Dean. Only, he had no idea of the extent to which Tim could take things.

The cramped conditions on the road, plus the fact that they lived in an all guy household meant that casual nudity or near nudity was an everyday fact of life. Only, somewhere along the way, Tim had figured out the difference between showing and suggesting, and for the past few days, he had been in full on tease mode.

Take today for instance, as Tim ambled out to the kitchen table for breakfast clad in only the torc and a pair of blue [sweatpants riding so low](http://i67.photobucket.com/albums/h305/tartymae/HotGuys/TimLowRide1.png) that by all rights they should be down around his ankles. Was Tim using double stick tape to keep them on? Try as he might, Sam couldn't tear his eyes away from those lean hips as he swallowed hard ... that drawstring dangling down, the line of cloth not more than barest millimeters above ....

Oh, _fuck_ him.

(Yes, please!)

No, wait, _un-fuck_ him.

Dean, of course, found the whole thing hilarious. And made sure he got digs in at every opportunity.

Inwardly Sam cursed the fact that it had been his idea to teach Tim poker as a way for him to learn how to not show his every emotion on his face. Because, it was working. All those barbs and innuendos, and Sam had no idea what Tim was thinking, other than a chortle at one of Dean's better zingers.

Sam muttered something about Tim sleeping on the couch.

Dean laughed.

Tim's eyes momentarily blazed like a tiger's before he visibly clamped down on his emotions. "I don't think so, Dean. The only way that's going to happen is if Sam puts me there himself, and if he tries that? Well, he's going to have an interesting time of it."

Sam's rage shifted into slow burn.

Tim finally looked at him, and, arching an eyebrow, continued, "Remember back when you asked me about places I wanted to see? I think Lake Havasu is one of them."

"It's a waste of our time and our money," Sam replied as calmly as he could.

"No more than sitting around here all week," Dean cut in. "'C'mon, Sammy, it's sunshine, and beer and girls -- well you two can at least _look_ at the hotness -- and fun. You do remember what having fun, some real fun is?"

"Fuck you," Sam whispered as he stood up.

When Tim came to bed that night, the stubborn set of his jaw dared Sam to start something.

And for a crazy moment, Sam considered it. But Dean had been teaching Tim a lot during the past few months, and while Sam felt certain that in the end he could still take Tim, he had the sheer height and muscle mass, they would probably trash the house and bang themselves up pretty badly in the process.

With an angry huff, he turned away from Tim.

~oo(0)oo~

They both woke up in the middle of the night snuggled together, tangled in the soft, wash-faded sheets. Happy for just that split second. Then the look in Tim's eyes grew flinty.

"Am I not enough for you?" Sam whispered after several moments of soul searching. "Is wanting to go to Havasu about wanting some sort of open relationship?"

Tim blinked at him, startled. "What?! No. But ... it's not like we haven't had Dean along several times. Like every time after a big Hunt."

"That's different."

Tim sighed and flopped on his back. "Sam, you're the only person I've ever ... barebacked. Going to Havasu it isn't ... it isn't about that. But I thought that us not -- I thought it meant something." Pause. Then, in a small voice: "Do you want me to go with a girl? Do you want us to --"

"No!" Sam gasped.

"Then what?"

"Why do you want to do this? Why are you encouraging Dean?"

Tim shot him a look of pure incredulity. "Because Dean needs it! You think you're carrying a load? _Try being Dean._ Try really thinking about it, Sam. Do you know why we've been here so long? Because Dean's saving money for you. He knows you're going to be a wreck for awhile after --"

"He's not going to die!" Sam hissed.

"You don't know that," Tim said softly. "Yeah, we're going to try. We're going to try everything in the book, 'clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose' and all that, but it doesn't -- sometimes you don't win, Sam. You just don't." Tim gave a soft half-smile. "Not that I'm giving up on Dean or that I'm not going to help you every way I know how when that day comes."

Sam inched over and put an arm around Tim, pulling him close. "When did you take my side?"

"From day one. What did you think?"

Sam's mouth opened and closed several times, but he couldn't make the words come.

"He's your brother, and ..." Tim drew in a shuddery breath, and in a voice that quavered ever so slightly, continued, "I know how much you love him. What -- what he is to you."

Sam groaned and scrubbed a hand across his face. "That 'dull boy' remark hurt. It's not easy, you're right about that. Dean's always looked after me, looked out for me. It's always been me and him against the world. Even when we were fighting. But I've always been the responsible one, the good boy, and he's always been the rebel and most of the time? That's okay.

"But I don't like having it held against me, like it's a bad thing. Because this last year? Somebody's got to keep this thing on the rails. And --" Sam's throat tightened. "And I just can't --"

"You say he's the rebel and yet, you're the one who left the life your dad had all planned out for you and stood up to him. You're also the one with the boyfriend," Tim said as he smoothed Sam's hair back and kissed him tenderly on the forehead.

(And then clung tight and urged him on, whispering "It's okay," and "I know, I know," when Sam grabbed him and tried to fuck the pain away.)

~oo(0)oo~

The sun beat down upon a small valley ringed in by steep red-brown mountains. He stood on a playa that in the wet months probably held an inch or so of water, but right now was a shimmering white salt hell.

"Ruby," Sam said as he turned around. "Long time no see."

She was dressed in her typical All-American style, including a jean jacket with leather fringe that looked new and a pair of cowboy boots. Sam wondered if she wore what she wanted here, or what she happened to have on in the real world, because he wasn't bare-ass naked, and either his subconscious had created the jeans and T-shirt he wore, or she had dressed him. But he doubted that. The predatory gleam in her eye made him pretty sure that she'd love to see him in all his glory.

Ruby smiled at him, studied him for a moment, and said, "It's not like I can pull you here at will. You have to be ... in the right frame of mind."

"What, edgy and pissed?"

"Something like that. It gives me something to latch on to." She cocked her head and studied him again.

Sam shrugged. "And here I thought deep inner serenity was needed for astral projection."

Her laughter reminded him of wind chimes, thin and silvery. "This isn't the usual kind of astral projection." She smiled again, her teeth seeming somehow too white and sharp, and continued, "I see you've collared him."

"I was wondering when you'd show up and say something like that." He didn't bother trying to keep the smirk out of his voice or off his face.

Ruby paced a figure eight in the dry lake bed they stood on. The sun had baked the ground so hard that it almost sounded like walking on cement. "You two are so different -- it interests me. You make such a show of wearing your heart on your sleeve, and he keeps his light under a bushel. It's what draws you to him, you know. You crave that light, that warmth. Something to counter the dark, cold emptiness within." She laid a hand on his shoulder and leaned in. "Does he know how afraid you are of yourself?"

"I am not!" Sam shouted, infuriated by her too-sweet tone.

(Furious at the truth.)

"Not what?" Tim asked muzzily, from his face mashed into the pillow position.

"Nothing. Just a dream," Sam muttered.

Fuck. He didn't know what sort of game Ruby was playing but he'd had enough of it.

Time to level the playing field, he thought grimly. He had an idea of how he might do it, but the problem was, how to accomplish it without letting Dean and Tim in on it.

Tim rolled over and snuggled into him. But Sam did not relax as he idly stroked Tim's hair, and sleep did not come.


	9. Chapter 9

"What are you researching?" Dean asked as he picked up another slice of pizza.

"London Bridge," Sam replied, pausing to jot a note down.

"Is it haunted?" Tim asked, an almost pathetically eager note in his voice.

Dean drained his beer and set it on the table. "Might be." He cracked his neck. "They used to brick cats and dogs into the foundations of towers and bridges for luck back in the day."

_Yeah, the last vestiges of pagan rituals,_ Sam thought. He leaned back in his chair, ran a hand through his hair and with careful patience said, "Dean, Tim, to get that bridge from England to Arizona, they took it apart, numbered and lettered each piece, put it in a crate, and shipped it over. And guess what?"

Dean raised a hopeful eyebrow as he took another enormous bite of his slice.

"If there had been a cat or a dog or, God forbid, a person, it would have been found! And it would've been mentioned because that's exactly the sort of juicy tidbit that newspaper reporters _love_ to mention. There's nothing special about the bridge!"

"Then why were you researching it?" They asked archly.

"Because I was curious about it." Both of them looked so crestfallen at the answer that Sam had to laugh inside. Clearing his throat, he continued, "Not that I don't think there might be a job at Lake Havasu."

"Really?" Dean tried to play it cool, but his eyes gleamed.

Sam clicked on a tab in his browser and flipped the laptop towards them.

"Brain eating parasite found in Lake Havasu," Tim read.

"What?!" Dean grabbed for the laptop. "Man, that sucks. I was totally looking forward to getting in the water." Pause. "Wait. You ... think this is demonic somehow? Kind of like how Bobby thinks ebola is like the vampire virus, but mutated?"

"Think about it," Sam said, ticking off points on his fingers. "All of a sudden it shows up, almost out of nowhere, in a place where it's never been before, in a place that's kind of strange for it to occur, and it kills you because you got water up your nose? _Please_."

Tim and Dean looked at each other for a long moment.

"Well ... oh why not?" Dean threw his arms up in the air. "Been too long since we had something other than a meat and potatoes poltergeist or haunting."

Tim frowned in thought and asked, "So ... how are we going to kill it? It's not like you can salt and burn a lake. Or can you?"

~oo(0)oo~

"And sometimes it really just is a nasty bug," Dean muttered almost disgustedly as they left the trees and shade of Lake Havasu City in the rear-view mirror and climbed back into the desert.

"Still, it was good to see you spoiling for a Hunt again, Sammy, been too long."

Sam made a non-committal noise. _If only you knew why I was hoping to find a demon._

"So," Dean continued, "How about you, Timmy? Have a good time, or are you pouting, too?"

The now much tanner Tim snorted and replied, "I had a good enough time. Not a _fantastic_ one, though." A mischievous glint entered his eyes and he leaned forward, resting his arms on top of the front seat. "So, how about sharing some details on those blonde chicks from last night?"

Sam groaned and buried his face in his hands. Dean had had a fantastic time -- drank and partied all night long the entire time and surfed from bed to bed to bed. Several hickeys of various shapes and colors ringed his neck.

He and Tim on the other hand, had spent the nights crammed into a pup tent that really wasn't big enough for the two of them in a loud campground, where circumstances hadn't permitted more than two quick emergency handjobs. College students were, generally speaking, more liberal, but Sam and Tim knew better than to press their luck. And, while Tim hadn't actively chased any girls, the problem was that they chased him. How Tim had managed to stay faithful (and he had) and yet still retain his het credentials, Sam did not know. He flirted and charmed but somehow managed to send them along without pissing them off. A part of Sam had wanted to point at the torc around Tim's neck and yell, "See this? It means he's mine. Back off!" on several occasions. For his part, Sam had simply glared at any girl who too came close to him.

However, all of that meant that Sam had had precious little time and space to hike out to the more remote canyons and inlets along the lake shore and perform the rituals needed to determine what unnatural entity plagued the lake, much less try to teach Tim anything. Also, his research in the local library had turned up next to nothing, and though he followed up as thoroughly as the circumstances permitted, none of his (admittedly slender) leads panned out.

It really _was_ just an amoeba that liked the soft mud of the more stagnant and shallow areas of the drought-depleted lake, where, thank you global warming, the sun heated the water to near bathtub temps in the summertime.

(Fuck.)

~oo(0)oo~

Sam had barely gotten into the bedroom, slung his duffel on the bed, and unzipped it when Tim shut the door, locked it, and _pounced_ him, knocking the bag to the floor, spilling a week's worth of dirty clothes everywhere. "Jesus, Tim! Dean --"

"Rubbed it in our faces all fucking week," Tim said before kissing him hard.

Well.... Yeah, actually, Dean had.

Tim bucked against him, the bulge in his well worn jeans pressing against Sam's hipbone. "Do you have _any_ idea," he growled, "how incredibly damn hard last week was?"

Sam cupped his hand around Tim's ass and answered with a thrust of his own. "It's been hard for me, too."

Tim sighed dramatically. "If we had had to stay there much longer I would've lost it completely."

Sam shook with laughter and pecked Tim on the lips. "Me too." Pause. "Some of those girls were mighty fine."

Tim froze and studied him. "Yeah," he said softly and swallowed hard. A split second later, though, another thought occurred to him and he grinned roguishly. "The old me would've been knee deep -- no -- _hip-deep_ in pussy."

They both laughed at that.

The expression on his face shifting to something more pensive, Tim continued, "Don't take this the wrong way, Sam, but sometimes, I really miss going down on a girl. So I'd be looking at them, thinking about what this one or that one might taste like, what kind of noises she might make, and that would get me thinking about what it's like to go down on _you._ Damn that pup tent -- if it wasn't so small ...." Tim's hands slid under the hem of Sam's shirt and pushed it up and his voice turned smoky as he murmured, "Thinking about what you smell like." He sniffed deeply at Sam's chest before he planted a trail of kisses leading to Sam's nipple. "What you taste like." He sucked the nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking, wringing an involuntary _ooooh_ from Sam. "The _noises_ you make."

Sam burned to say something in kind, tell Tim that he had felt much the same way. That yeah, he still found women beautiful and desirable, but that his thoughts had turned ever back to Tim, and how wonderful it was that they had such honesty in their relationship that they could talk about things like this. And um, yeah, _damn_ that pup tent. And that large happy Mormon family who sailed up the little inlet that lead to the secluded beach they were on just as he was about to give in and pin Tim (who had been going shirtless and had a streak of bright red dirt on his cheek) to the ground. "We need to get naked, right now."

Tim smirked down at him. "Dean is right. You _are_ a master of the obvious."

~oo(0)oo~

It began with a frantic bump and grind to take the edge off. To Sam it seemed like only three strokes after their dicks met they both groaned and shot all over each other. When he caught his breath again, Sam pressed Tim back down into the mattress and began by licking the mess off his belly, secretly amused at the way he had Tim jittering and swearing softly under his breath with only a few strokes of his tongue. Slowly, leisurely, with lips and hands he worked his way back up Tim's body, lingering at all the "hot spots" he had discovered in their time together ... that line along the angle of his hip, the ticklish places at the bottom edges of his rib cage (which made Tim's stomach ripple and flutter like mad), his nipples (which Sam sucked and nipped into hard little peaks), his neck (nibbling and tonguing along the edges of the torc) ... until Tim groaned and twisted beneath him, arching in a futile quest for friction and release.

And he _begged_. Nothing specific. Just lay there on the faded sheets and begged Sam _please, please, please,_ until Sam silenced him with a kiss.

"Oh God, Sam, please," Tim gasped when Sam finally let them break for air.

Sam chortled wickedly at that. "Please _what_, Tim?"

"You know ..." Tim whispered breathlessly, eyes glazed, before he claimed Sam's lips in another feverish kiss.

Mimicking Tim's voice to the best of his abilities, Sam said, "Please, Sam, roll us over." And he did just that, laughing back up at Tim who looked down at him, wonderingly, as if he couldn't figure out how Sam had turned the two of them so quickly. Then that slow smile spread across Tim's face, so Sam continued in drawl, "And spread 'em, so I can hammer you into the bed."

Tim jerked violently. "Jesus, Sam!" He gasped. "For reals?"

Sam shook with laughter. "Yeah, before I have a moment of sanity and change my mind."

Tim gave him an earnest gaze. "Swear to God, I'll make it good for you this time -- better than last."

Sam reached up and cupped Tim's face, then ran a finger along the rim of the torc, "It wasn't _bad_ for me, Tim. It's just that I don't -- I'm not wired quite the way you are."

"So why are you?"

_Because I want something that will leave a mark, so to speak, in the morning. Because tonight I want to lie here and let the world happen to me._ "Because I'm in the mood for something different ... if you are."

Tim responded by thrusting against him.

The fact that Sam wasn't wired quite the same way as Tim didn't mean that Sam got nothing out of it as Tim carefully, methodically, prepared him. Quite the opposite. By the time Tim started pumping with two fingers in, Sam's cock was hard and leaking and he was the one hissing at Tim to please please please get on with it. Tim laughed low and throaty in reply as he slicked himself and slowly drove in.

Sam flexed and choked back a cry -- this was it. This what he needed tonight: the sensation of legs stretched and bent back to the point of strain, coupled with that unyielding hardness driven in again and again and again, tension-release, tension-release, tension-release, until a different kind of tension began to coil at the base of his spine ... and then Tim wrapped a gel slick hand around his leaking dick and Sam had no more thought, no more analysis. Pure instinct took over and his body rocked and bucked with each thrust/stroke that took him closer to the static whiteout of orgasm.

Reality slowly crept back in when the blood stopped hammering in his ears. Mostly in the form of growing awareness of Tim's sweat-slick, panting body half draped over his).

"I'm not going to ask you if you liked that," Tim murmured happily in his ear, little tendrils of breath tickle-teasing along the edge of Sam's neck.

Sam turned his head and murmured, "I'm still seeing stars, Timmy." He kissed Tim's forehead. "I might have to ask for this more often."

Tim pushed up on one arm and frowned thoughtfully down at him. "Well, okay," he said after a moment. "But so long as it's not too often."

Sam hooked a finger in the torc and tugged gently. "Greedy." He smiled up at Tim and then against his will, yawned hugely.

Tim smiled and nodded, blushing a little. "Damn right I am." He also cracked a yawn of his own, and snuggled back down, one arm draped over Sam.

"We should clean up," they both murmured in unison.

"My body feels like a wet noodle," Sam added.

"Shower and get the sheets in the morning," Tim replied.

Sam gave up the struggle to stay awake and let sleep pull him under.

~oo(0)oo~

"Hunting again, Sam?" Dean asked as he poured coffee into a travel mug en-route to the back door.

Sam found it hard to believe that Dean had kept his job this long. Well, not that he had kept it -- Dean was a hard worker. That he kept on going back to something so ... daily. Forcing his voice to a calmness he didn't feel, Sam replied, "Yeah, the bug's bit me, I guess."

Dean gave a harrumphing laugh. "And here I thought you were domesticated and all."

I need to find a demon, Dean. We've got to get on the road again because there's nothing here and time's running out. With a nonchalance he didn't feel, he replied, "Maybe I'm bored." He stretched, feeling the bones in his back crackle. "It's not like I have my studies anymore. Frankly, I'm surprised you've been okay with staying here this long."

Dean took another guzzle and picked up his keys. "I've had my reasons." He shrugged. Just before he went out the door, though, he paused and continued, "Should I give notice?"

Putting the pen down, Sam leaned back in his chair and said, "Yeah ... never thought I'd say this, but it's time to go."

"Go where?" Tim asked from the hallway, scrubbing blearily at his eyes. His workday didn't start until 10am on most days, so he didn't roll out of bed until he absolutely had to.

"We're leaving Phoenix soon," Sam said.

Tim's eyebrows lifted. He scratched idly at his ribs before he said, "When?"

"Two weeks," Dean replied. "Give notice today at work."

Tim blinked at that. "Where to?"

"Wherever the Hunt takes us," Sam said.

Tim ambled over to the fridge, poured a glass of orange juice and chugged. "Cool. I hope it's someplace with a beach. Like Florida. Or maybe even New Orleans." He lifted a knowing eyebrow. "Mardi Gras."

"That's the ticket!" Dean said.

So much for wanting to hit the San Francisco bay area, Sam didn't bother to rein in his groan. "Mardi Gras," he replied, biting the words out, "has come and gone. This is business."

They blinked sheepishly at that. "So, we'll just do our own thing," Dean said and finally headed out the door.

Muttering a calming mantra under his breath, Sam set back to researching and jotting down notes on what he found as Tim fixed himself a giant bowl of Wheaties.

"You go through so much milk, we ought to buy a cow," Sam joked. "Or get you in a 'got milk' ad."

Tim smiled and shoveled in a huge spoonful of cereal. "So," he said, speaking around the food in his mouth, "we really going to New Orleans?"

Sam hated to crush the hope in his eyes, but that didn't stop him from saying, "Only if I find something legit."

~oo(0)oo~

"It's amazing how much crap you accumulate by settling in one place," Dean grumbled as he started sorting through several piles of stuff in an effort to get everything down to one bag. "I had forgotten. It's been ... decades since I stayed in one place long enough to have stuff."

With a note of wry amusement in his voice, Tim said, "So, I guess we're giving Goodwill back most of the stuff we bought from them?"

Dean snorted at that. "More or less."

Sam looked at Tim and smiled sourly. "Welcome to my childhood."

Dean gave a loud ahem.

"Our childhood," Sam amended. "At most, we stayed a year in the same place. But whenever Dad declared it was time to move on --"

"Or if we had to leave town in an extra hurry --"

"Which we frequently did, you grabbed the essentials and left the rest."

Tim nodded and chewed his lip in thought as he pondered the items spread out on the table before him: two extra hoodie sweatshirts, a belt, his running shoes, a battered copy of Of Mice and Men -- not something that Sam had ever seen him reading -- and a CD Walkman.

"Keep the CD Walkman," Sam whispered in his ear. "We can get one of those tape to CD adapters and bring Dean in to the world of music made after 1994."

"I heard that." Dean shot a mock dirty glare at him.

But to Sam's surprise, Tim's mouth quirked in a half-smile as his hand reached for the book, stroking the cover for a moment.

"Something special about that book?" Sam asked.

Tim nodded. "It's ... one of my last pieces of Dillon. It's -- Landry read it to me. It's the first book he read to me." Sam got the impression from the way that Tim said it that there were layers of meaning behind that statement. Just when he thought he had gotten to know Tim ... that's when he found out how much he didn't know about Tim. "It was in the backpack I took the day I left Billy. I didn't even realize it was still in there, not until after. It .... I don't remember him doing it, but Bobby must have grabbed my backpack out of the truck when he pulled me and Landry out. Or maybe it was Landry, or even me who grabbed it." He sighed heavily and ran his hands through his hair. "It's not like I'm going to --"

"Mail it back to Landry," Dean said.

Tim nodded absently and continued, "I mean, I know it's just a book and ...."

"It's not just a book, we get that." Sam swallowed hard and continued, his voice a little raspy, "Sometimes, things are all you have --" He couldn't force the words out. (Jess. Dad. Mom. Maybe Dean.)

"We didn't have a lot of things growing up," Dean spoke softly. "Just people. Just each other. But sometimes, the things are all you have left of the people who are gone."

Tim peeked up at them through his hair. "Like your dad's truck."

"Yeah." But Dean had to clear his throat to continue, "It, and his journal, are pretty much what we have left of him."

Tim nodded yet again, and didn't say anything for a long time after. Later that day he handed Sam three envelopes to mail. The thickest one was priority mail to one of Bobby's dropboxes and contained a lump the size and shape of a paperback. The others were letters with Dillon, TX addresses.

"I still have some people left," Tim murmured in answer to Sam's unasked question. "Growing up, me and Billy didn't have a whole heck of a lot, but I always had Billy."

Tim didn't volunteer any information about Jason Street, and something about the way his eyes lingered on that envelope told Sam that if he asked, Tim's answer would tell him everything and nothing at all.

~oo(0)oo~

"So, you're going mobile again? I was wondering when that would happen." Bobby's voice sounded faintly amused.

"Yeah. I think I found something strange going on in the outskirts of Atlanta."

Bobby hmmned and said, "I'm of half a mind to join you myself. I've never been as mobile as you guys, but this has been as long as I've ever stayed at home since I started Hunting.

"But, I've got the lovebirds still trooping hither and yon on my property -- they're not quite field ready yet, though I've been working on that -- but I've got the feeling that if I decide to take a week away, Landry will get it into his mind to start experimenting again, and who knows what kind of hell he and Tyra will raise."

Sam laughed. "Well, it's not like he's trying to summon demons or something."

Dead silence.

"Holy shit!"

"Yeah," Bobby said in a sour voice. "I thought the boy had more sense than that, but despite the fact that the Mad Scientist and Lil Miss Trouble have been shown a few case file photos of why you don't go summoning demons for fun and games, the temptation to tinker might get the better of them -- again."

Sam heard the sound of a door slamming open and excited voices in the background.

Bobby groaned under his breath before saying, "Well, speak of the devil, they're back, and it looks like they're busting to tell me something about my property lines again."

"My dad's truck still running?" Sam asked.

"Humming right along." Pause. "Only this time, it's Tyra having the Chilton's Manual read to her."

Sam chortled at that image. "See you later, Bobby." And please, please, please don't come to Georgia. My plan will be fucked for sure if you do.


	10. Chapter 10

They clipped the Texas panhandle -- neither Sam nor Dean saw any point in driving all the way up to Colorado before heading east -- and while Tim played cool on the outside, Sam could tell that he sweated bullets on the inside. Dean humored the both of them, keeping the needle pegged just a hair above the speed limit until they hit Oklahoma.

The next day they stopped in at a public library in Stillwater so that Sam could get access to the backfiles of the Atlanta Journal Constitution and see if he could find any further clues there. He and Dean were in the middle of following up on a story that the AJC considered a case of identity theft when Tim softly cleared his throat.

"Guys ... can I ask a favor?" He held up flier.

"I don't know, can you?" Dean weisenheimered, causing Tim to piff at him.

Tim rarely asked either of them for anything, and the hesitancy of his tone made it clear to Sam that he was about to ask for something big. "What is it?" Sam asked.

Tim handed him the flier. "Can we go to this?"

"Murderball?" Dean said as he glanced over. "Sounds interesting." He looked at Sam and shrugged.

Sam looked at Tim for a long moment. "What's up?"

Tim took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and stopped twice before he finally forced the words out, "I know a guy who plays for this team, a friend from Dillon. I ... kind of want to see him again." His voice sounded casual, but the look in his eyes was not.

"C'mon, what's a day, Sammy?" Dean clapped him on the back. "With a name like murderball, how could this be bad?"

But what aren't you telling me, Tim? Sam wondered. With a smile that he knew didn't reach his eyes, Sam replied, "Sure. Sounds like fun."

~oo(0)oo~

As soon as he got a moment away from the two of them, Sam dialed Bobby's number. "Is Landry or Tyra in? I've got a question to ask them," he said the instant the phone picked up.

"And a good afternoon to you, too, Sam," came Bobby's tart reply.

Sigh. "Sorry, Bobby. It's just -- I've got a question about Tim."

"Here's Tyra."

"Hi Sam, what's up?" Pause. And then in a lower voice. "Bobby says you sound a little freaked. And that it's about Tim. What's wrong?"

"Who does Tim know that does wheelchair sports?"

"Jason. Wait. Are you all in Texas?!"

"No."

"Okay. So, what's Jason got to do with --"

"There's some wheelchair thing going on at the local Y tonight. Tim asked to go. Said he knew a guy on the team."

Tyra hmmmnd and Sam could all but see the sad smile on her face. "Well, it could be Herc, but I don't know .... It's got to be Jason. I don't think he'd ask if it wasn't, or if he didn't think Jason would be there."

Jason Street. The best friend who broke his neck.

Tyra's voice interrupted Sam's musing. "If it is Jason, if you get a chance, tell him I say hi."

"Will do," Sam said woodenly and hung up.

Jason Street, Tim's best friend.

Sam had never had a best friend, not really. They never lived any place long enough for him to get to know anybody in more than a casual way.

He had only had Dad and Dean.

And then Jess ... but that was different. She was a lover and a friend. Same with Tim.

Something twisted in him at the idea of meeting this Jason Street. It took him awhile to label it.

Jealousy. (Worry.)

~oo(0)oo~

"Dude, it's like a demolition derby, only with wheelchairs!" Dean said excitedly in Sam's left ear as he all but bounced in his seat with glee.

"Yeah, it is that," Sam agreed as next to him, on the right, Tim alternated between bouncing in his seat, cheering the Texas team on, explaining the rules, wringing his hands, and chewing his lip with such intensity that Sam expected to see blood. Tim jumped up from the seat and almost ran to the floor when a particularly hard slam knocked his friend Jason over.

Sam laid a hand on Tim's knee. "Relax. We don't want to blow it."

Tim nodded and wrung his hands. Again.

~oo(0)oo~

As soon as the final buzzer sounded, Tim shot out of his seat and ran down the bleachers, shouting, "Hey, Six!"

Jason turned, and Sam, following hard on Tim's heels, got his first good look at him. Startlement turned into shock and then into an ear-to-ear grin blossoming across Jason's all-American good looks. "Tim?!" He raced towards them.

Dean's hand clamping down on his shoulder stopped Sam. "Let's give them a little space."

But the two of them edged closer when Tim knelt before Jason and took Jason's hands -- hands Sam could see were permanently contorted into clubbed fists -- into his and gently stroked his thumbs across the back as they spoke in hushed, urgent voices.

Seething internally, Sam played it cool and stepped just into hearing range in time to hear Tim say, "No, it's cool. I've got people looking out for me. Friends." Tim looked over his shoulder and smiled at Sam, that smile that never failed to warm his heart.

Jason smiled at him and Dean and said, "Well, that's good to hear."

Sam heard Tim draw a shaky breath, but before he could speak, a voice called out from across the court, "We ain't got all night, Sparky!"

Sam edged around to the side as Jason yelled back, "In a minute, Herc!"

Tim visibly collected himself. "So, you and Herc, still the dynamic duo?" he said softly.

Jason laughed at that. "Yeah. I guess."

A painfully long silence followed.

"So ... I guess I'd better roll," Jason finally said. "Don't be a stranger, Tim."

Tim's face crumpled as he shook his head. "I won't," he choked out.

"Tim ...."

"I miss you, Six. I miss us."

Jason sighed and ruffled Tim's hair. "I miss us, too, Riggs." He looked up at Sam and Dean, his gaze clear and direct. "Take care of him."

"We will." Dean said, jamming his hands down into his pockets and shifting.

Jason nodded at them, then leaned forward, hooking a hand around the back of Tim's head, drew him in, and whispered something in his ear. When he sat back again, Tim looked up with tear-wet eyes and nodded stoically. Jason wheeled away, paused in the doorway and waved before he disappeared.

Tim's misery was palpable as he followed them out to the car.

As soon as Dean got it in gear, Tim tapped him on the shoulder and held out his hand. Wordlessly Dean passed him the flask and Tim gulped it dry before handing it back. "It's a good thing you killed that demon who grants wishes at the crossroads," he said, his voice raw with whiskey and emotion. "Because if you hadn't, there's not a force in the world that could stop me right now." He slumped back in his seat and buried his face in his hands.

Sam drew a breath and tried to think of what to say. A look from Dean and an almost imperceptible shake of his head stopped Sam. Instead, he reached over and softly, silently stroked Tim's hair.

He wanted more than anything to tell Tim that it would be alright.

But no.

Some things would never be right, and they both knew it.

~oo(0)oo~

Tim pounced Sam as soon as they got back to the hotel room, slamming him into the wall next to the door. He followed with a bruising kiss.

"I need you to fuck me," Tim hissed, low and urgent. "I need you -- and Dean -- to fuck me so hard I can't even remember my own name."

When Sam didn't respond fast enough, Tim ripped Sam's shirt in his haste to get it off of him.

Startled at this side of Tim -- a rage and need forged from emptiness, heretofore glimpsed but never seen full on -- Sam glanced over at Dean to see what he made of this sudden change in the normally easy-going, almost passive Tim.

Dean stood open mouthed, eyes slightly glazed, transfixed. And then, his eyes looking at them -- not meeting, not seeing Sam's gaze -- Dean's hands dropped to the hem of his shirt.

"Need this, Sam," Tim whispered, almost chanting, snapping Sam's attention back. "You have to give this to me. I don't ask for much from you." He sucked at Sam's neck, " ... owe me."

It slammed into him. Shock replaced by lust. Sam ripped at the snaps at the front of Tim's shirt and kissed him savagely, making Tim gasp and moan. "Yeah, Timmy," Sam rasped when they broke for air. "For you? Anything."

Yes. For Tim.

Need and want and hurt all bound up in one Gordian Knot? Yeah. Sam _got that_.

Roughly, he marched Tim back towards the bed, towards the half-naked Dean. And for a split second, their eyes met, and yeah, Dean got it, too.

Because, it was either do this -- use Tim (the darker places inside of Sam burbled with glee at the thought. They had wanted this, or something very much like it, for awhile now) -- or hit a liquor store. But there wasn't enough booze in the world to fill the empty place inside of Tim.

Or himself.

Or Dean.

And all things considered, Sam would rather fuck the pain away -- or try to fuck the pain away -- although that had always been more of Dean's sort of thing. But now, doing it, and sharing it with Dean? Sam wanted it. He saw the same thing in the depths of Dean's eyes, and it caused him to screw his own eyes shut and shiver as that realization coiled through him.

~oo(0)oo~

Sam didn't bother to undress himself further. Just unzipped, pushed down, slicked his hard and seeping cock with an extra measure of spit, positioned Tim face down, and, after a couple of bad thrusts (and an awful moan from Tim) finally got himself all the way in. He set a steady pace, Tim's gritted out oh oh ohs driving him on.

But Sam had no plans to make this a quick fuck. He needed Tim to know, needed for Tim to feel this for days after. He slowed the pace down, rolling his hips slow and long and deep, finishing each stroke with a hard snap, Tim's ohs drawing out into ohhhhhhhs.

Glancing over at Dean, who watched them mesmerized, Sam took his hand off of Tim's hip and crooked a finger in invitation. Slowly, almost as if he were sleepwalking, Dean rose and, shedding clothes on the way, climbed on to the bed. Tim reached for him, already in the act of bending down to do what he normally did when the three of them joined like this -- blow Dean. Dean stopped him and instead leaned into Tim, kissing and sucking on his neck and collar bones, making Tim writhe and jerk and laugh and swear as Dean nipped at him, leaving a mark.

(Dean ... so close. Right there. Sam could smell him. Almost taste him. _Almost have him_.)

"Oh God yes, Dean ..." Tim gasped as Dean's mouth drifted down, lips and tongue working at Tim's nipples and Sam made a note to ask about how Tim would feel about having a piercing as Tim's hands cupped Dean's head, holding it right there, not letting him move.

That gave Sam pause, made him stop, break rhythm. He made his next thrusts short and sharp, followed by slow and deep, Tim's voice hitching as he croaked out, "Oh, Sam!" Continuing the same alternation of strokes, Sam bent his head and in turn went to work on Tim's neck and shoulders, nipping, then soothing it with his tongue, feather kisses were followed by hard sucks. When Tim finally let Dean start working his head lower, Sam reached around and tweaked and stroked and teased at Tim's tender nipples, Tim begging all the while for please more, as Dean inched his way down, Tim's entire body giving the most exquisite flutter-ripples as Dean trailed a series of hot little nips along the blades of Tim's hips.

Then came the moment Sam had been waiting for since he had had an inkling of where Dean might take this -- Dean took Tim into his mouth.

Tim cried out as wet heat enclosed him, bucking, twisting.

Sam slammed home, zero to sixty in his pace, pounding in as hard and fast as he could, fucking Tim into Dean, throwing all restraint to the winds, letting the darkness and the animal need in him take over, breaking the unspoken "no touch" rule as he snaked his hand into Dean's hair, holding his head in position as Tim clenched tightly and cried out and came, sending Sam over the edge and it felt as if it were flowing out of him, through Tim and into Dean, who choked and sputtered on what Tim gave him.

When the last jolts faded, Sam slid out, pushing Tim forward, on to Dean, and staggered, jelly legged to the chair, stripping off his clothes and watching as Tim, still unsated though he'd come as hard as Sam had ever seen, climb onto Dean and sink down, riding him, head thrown back, hair flying, mouth open and panting, while Dean bucked up, pushing back.

Slowly, exquisitely, it coiled again in Sam, started rising again. He trembled like a leaf as he drank in the sheer scope of Tim's wild and untamed abandonment, crying out again when Dean flexed up hard, jaw clenched, teeth bared, hands knotted in the sheets, coming.

Tim had gotten completely hard again towards the end, and Sam was reloaded and ready to go as soon as Tim somewhat shakily climbed off of Dean's spent body. He flipped Tim on his back, hooking Tim's legs over his shoulders, closing his eyes and clenching his teeth as he pressed in --

(because that's Dean in there now, too, making it slick)

\-- sucking in ragged breaths as he fought the urge to come right now, because he couldn't stop yet. He has got to give Tim what Tim needs, has got to drive Tim over the edge and beyond.

Sam wanted to make it last, wanted to take Tim there as slowly and relentlessly as a glacier grinds down a mountain, but Tim wouldn't let him. Tim flexed back, demanding that Sam set a fast, hard pace, and they both angled so that Sam nailed him with every stroke, and Dean reached over and gently caressed the two of them, stroking Tim's thighs and Sam's biceps, the simple touch causing corkscrews to dance up Sam's spine, and finally Tim's eyes rolled back in his head as he came -- three hot jets across his stomach -- and the world exploded into technicolor static behind Sam's eyes at the sight of it.

He felt his legs start to buckle and he rolled to the side, Tim nearly insensate, sandwiched between him and Dean, who half-rolled, flailed about, and somehow got the lamp turned off without knocking it to the floor.

Sleep crashed over the three of them within moments.

~oo(0)oo~

"He looks like a debauched angel."

"Hello, Ruby," Sam said bitterly.

She snorted mirthfully. "What? It's what you've wanted from him all along, right?" She flashed him a smile that for once, reached her eyes.

Sam said nothing, just looked over and down at his sleeping form, arm flung possessively over Tim. A dull glint of light from the silver torc around Tim's neck drew his gaze and held it.

He hated to admit it, but Ruby was right.

Sleep eased the guardedness away from Tim's face, washed away the sharpness, the brittle hardness, left something very pure and open in its place.

Quite the contrast to the hickeys, scratches, bite marks and bruises -- visible even in the dim light -- that mottled Tim's flesh.

Parts of Sam tingled and thrilled at seeing Tim look so used.

But other parts of Sam remembered the ticking clock, the frustration of false leads and false hopes, the pointlessness of Ruby's games ... played to further her own agenda, whatever that was, or maybe (even worse) played just because she could.

Time to turn the tables.

"Yeah, he is a sight," Sam said, a note a smug satisfaction in his voice as he turned back to Ruby.

She smiled back. "That's the spirit."

Without warning, Sam shot his arm out, seized Ruby's arm, and yanked her hard to him. His other hand grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled back, twisting, exposing.

He bit down hard.

Stunned by the assault, Ruby actually froze for a moment before pushing Sam away and dealing a stinging blow.

Didn't matter. Sam had what he had come for.

Rich and coppery, the taste of Ruby's blood filled his mouth. He swallowed.

"Oh Sam ... Sammy ... that's not going to work quite the way you expected it to." Emotion colored Ruby's tone. Sam couldn't quite place it. In a human he would have called it regret, but Ruby wasn't human, she was a demon, and demons lied and played games with you and kept you from what you really needed to do to save your brother's life. Sam saw it clearly now.

"Goodbye, Ruby." He jumped for his body, jolting awake so sharply that it roused both Tim and Dean to sleepy mutterings.

Compulsively, Sam swallowed, tasting ... nothing.

~oo(0)oo~

Morning went about as well as it could, all things considered.

They all stank like hell.

Tim couldn't move without wincing, and just swinging his legs to sit up put a hitch in his breath.

Dean wouldn't look him in the eye. "You're trying to take me places I can't -- _I won't_ go, Sammy," he whispered when Tim tippy-toed away from them and into the bathroom.

Sam bit back on replying that it took two to tango and that Dean had willingly -- very willingly -- participated last night. Also, considering that Dean was hellbound at the moment? Worrying about sin seemed pretty silly. In for a penny, in for a pound.

(The world was falling apart, and a fight with Dean wouldn't accomplish a damn thing.)

Tim, fresh out of the bathroom, and always quick to pick up on a shift in Sam's mood, came to the rescue. "Sam," he croaked, shuffling over, "I think I might need some help taking a shower."

~oo(0)oo~

"No wonder Bobby thought you were an incubus," Sam joked after they both got into the bathtub and pulled the curtain, because, in spite of what had happened last night, and the fact that he was sore and marked up all over, that part of Tim was up and raring to go.

"Get used to it," he said over the roar of the water when they broke for air. "Phoenix spoiled me. I got used to having you every morning. It's good to be back in action, and on the road again, but I kind of do miss having our own room."

Yeah, Sam kind of missed it, too. He kissed Tim slow and gentle by way of reply, then soaped him up, fingers touching as tenderly as possible, jerking almost as much as Tim did at some of the damage he and Dean had inflicted. Damn. He'd find a way to make this up to Tim. "Turn around," he said, and, cradling Tim against him with one arm, he reached a soapy hand down and around and slowly, leisurely -- savoring every sound, every shudder -- stroked Tim to completion, holding him up when the post-orgasm Jello legs hit.

By then the water had started turning cold, and as Tim tried to return the favor, Sam kissed him tenderly on each shoulder then shushed him with a peck on the forehead. "I can wait, Tim."

Tim blushed and ducked his head, his hair flopping in front of his eyes. When he looked up again, Sam could see something in their amber depths, burning to come out.

Tim sucked in a huge breath, sputtered, and started over. "So, me and Jay? You -- you're not instead of Jay. Never instead. Ever." Tim trembled underneath his hands. "I just --"

"I know," Sam replied, brushing Tim's hair back and cupping his jaw. "I know."

Tim drew in a long breath, held it, let it out. "Dean's going to be pissed at us -- using up all the hot water."

Sam smiled. "We've got him outnumbered."

Tim nodded once and smiled back. "Yeah. Outnumbered."

~oo(0)oo~

Dean swore at them about the lack of hot water, but before long they were in the Impala, heading towards the greater Atlanta area, in search of Sam's last, best hope for a demon.


	11. Chapter 11

"What the hell kind of demon is that, Sam?" Tim whispered, awestruck as he watched their quarry cut through a lot overgrown with ragweed and kudzu.

"It's not a demon at all, Tim," Dean said almost gleefully. "My last Hunt, and at least we'll be taking on some big game -- that's a shapeshifter, a 'doppelganger' as the Germans call them. They're about as dangerous as it gets. Sneaky as all hell.

"One of them framed me for murder once, so, I've got a special kind of a mad-on for them." Dean's grin had a manic intensity to it, but it faded as he turned towards Sam. "Why so glum, Sammy? You look like the bottom dropped out."

"I thought it was a demon," Sam mumbled.

"Yeah, and what is it with you and demons lately?" Dean thumped out a tattoo on the Impala's steering wheel. "I've never seen somebody so hot and bothered to find one." Pause. "Outside of Dad, I mean."

Sam pressed his mouth shut and turned away.

"It doesn't matter why," Tim said, finally breaking the silence. "It's here. We're here. How do we deal with it?"

Dean's eyes sparkled. "These things are incredibly devious and dangerous, Tim. But they've got some weaknesses, too. Time to find a hotel room and give you a crash course in Shapeshifter 101."

_Because we've aced Shapeshifter 102, woo-hoo,_ Sam thought bitterly as he buried his head in his hands.

"Jeez, Sammy --" Dean began, but Tim cut him off.

"Leave it, Dean." Soft. Quiet.

"C'mon, Tim, you've seen how --"

"You keep picking at him like a scab."

"Tim?" Dean's expression was incredulous.

"I'm serious, Dean," Tim replied in a steely voice, barely above a whisper, that Sam had never heard him use before.

Dean whipped around in his seat, and Sam could see the anger flashing bright in his eyes. He and Tim were going to go at it, for reals, in the next five seconds. "It's demon blood, Dean! Okay?!" Sam blurted before he could stop himself. "I wanted to bag a demon so I could get some blood, get my gifts back online --"

"And what, save me?" Dean shouted back, throwing his hands up. "It doesn't work that way. I can't --"

"Shut up! _Jesus!_" Tim roared, startling the both of them in to silence. "Do you think Sam's just going to throw in the damn towel, Dean?" Rage made Tim's eyes as hard and bright as agates. "I've had people throw in the towel on me, and you say it, Dean, you say that you want Sam to, but believe me, you don't want it for reals. Ever.

"So, _both of you_, shut up. We've got a doppelbanger or whatever it's called to kill. Let's get on it and we can sort the rest out after."

Tim pulled Sam aside when Dean stepped into the bathroom of their hotel and whispered in his ear, "After we kill this thing, I'll help you hog-tie Dean and then we'll drive straight through to Bobby's."

Sam hugged him so tight he could feel ribs creak.

~oo(0)oo~

Two days later, Dean started hearing the barking. "Kind of ups our timetable on dispatching this thing."

"Maybe we should --" Sam began

Dean cut him off. "Maybe my ass, Sam. We've got a duty to -- we've got a job here and we've got to finish it."

"But, if this thing is so dangerous, how good a job are you doing to do if you're getting spooked by barking?" Tim asked. "I mean, it's not like blocking out the roar of a crowd."

"What are you getting at?" Dean didn't bother to keep the edge out of his voice.

Sam cleared his throat. "Maybe you should ride shotgun on this one, Dean. Back us up."

"In a car that's hexed every way from Sunday," Dean muttered.

"That's one way of looking at it." Tim crossed his arms and his jaw took on a mule stubborn set. "But I'm not doing this Hunt any other way. Besides, if something goes wrong, it's good to have an experienced Hunter in reserve to pull my JV ass out of trouble."

Dean snorted. "You're hardly, JV, not after what you've seen and done this past year."

"Okay, second string then."

"We do it Tim's way, or not at all," Sam said, clapping his hand on Tim's shoulder.

Dean's mouth tightened, and then he blew air up through his bangs. "You guys are mean, teaming up against me like this."

Sam allowed himself a tiny smile.

~oo(0)oo~

The vision came in the middle of the night, in the middle of a dream about eating at an IHOP, of all things ... the restaurant full of bright light and honey-colored wood shifted, folded, … away went pancakes and whipped cream and in its place came a filth-caked room, with peeling, faded greenish wallpaper and --

(please Jesus, NO)

\-- Dean, shotgun in hand, taking aim at two Tims.

Sam woke, shaking, with a splitting headache. His jelly legs somehow managed to get him to the bathroom without giving out. He even got most of the puke into the toilet bowl.

Shit.

Well, Ruby was right about that. It didn't work the way he had hoped. Because it wasn't like he could protect Dean from the Astral Plane, and visions that came only in the middle of dreams? Even less useful than his gift had been the first time out.

Yeah. Shit.

He sat on the toilet and leaned his head against the cool porcelain of the sink, and waited for the throbbing to ease.

~oo(0)oo~

"You look like shit, so I got you an extra cup," Tim said as he came in with a four pack of coffee. "You look like you can use it."

"I had a dream," Sam groaned.

"Yeah, well, so did I." Dean smirked as he popped the lid off and began dumping creamer and sugar in. "Lemme guess, yours did not star hot chicks straight out of Girls Gone Wild."

Tim rolled his eyes as he set both cups and a few creamers in front of Sam. "Keep reaching, Dean. You might actually find the funny."

"It felt sort of like a vision," Sam said as he stirred in cream and sugar. After he took a huge gulp, he continued, "It was about this thing we're Hunting. About you and Tim."

Dean swallowed hard, the mockery gone from his eyes. "Tell me about it, Sammy. And don't leave anything out."

"Well, it might be nothing ..." But even Sam could hear the lack of conviction in his voice.

"It might be nothing, but it can't hurt to tell us," Dean said matter of factly. He drank his coffee and muttered something about "black sunshine" under his breath before he looked back at Sam, gaze expectant.

Sam sucked in a deep breath and said, "Okay, it went like this ..."

~oo(0)oo~

Head throbbing and ears ringing, Sam gingerly cracked an eye open and got a vague impression of a dirty room with mottled green wallpaper. He shut it again and swallowed hard against the nausea rising in his throat, the results of a mixture of dread and his injuries. The rag in his mouth made it painfully dry and it felt as if he would gag on his tongue for a moment. The stench of rotting meat and mildew that permeated the room didn't help to settle his stomach, either. Sam shifted slightly in his chair, trying to wiggle his hands, his feet, but the world seemed to spin as he moved, and without warning, the chair shifted, one leg shorter than the other, and his head lolled violently to the side because of his limp-noodle neck, and yellow and orange, the pain crackled in jagged lines behind his eyes, and his stomach lurched sickeningly in response, then, mercifully, everything faded to black.

He swam back into consciousness just in time to see two Tims facing off against each other -- the real Tim having slipped his bonds at some point in the last few minutes.

Sam's stomach clenched and curdled with renewed horror. Dean would come through that door in just a few moments and level his shotgun ....

The Tims barely took their eyes off each other as one of them drew a knife -- a wicked serrated one with a serpentine curve to the blade, the knife Dean had given to Tim. But in the next breath the other Tim dashed Sam's hopes by reaching back and drawing the same kind of knife.

The door flew open, and the sound, coupled with the awful knowledge of what that meant, hit Sam like a fist to the stomach. He retched violently behind the gag, stomach clenching so hard that vomit dribbled from his nose, choking, eyes shooting tears of pain at the acid burn of it, while Dean strode in ... and leveled his shotgun.

(_Oh no, ohgod, ohplease no, not Tim._) Sam's stomach heaved yet again, sending a second flood of nearly pure acid into his throat and sinuses.

Dean's eyes rabbited between the two Tims before he shot the Tim the right, sending him flying into the wall in a spatter of blood and flesh.

The remaining Tim and Dean flew across the room, Tim with his knife in hand, and Dean with a silver letter opener, and set upon the wounded shapeshifter, stabbing and slicing until they were covered in blood and gore and it had stopped twitching.

When they had finished, Sam sagged limply in his chair, tears of both pain and relief rolling down his face, while snot poured from nose, while Tim sawed at his bonds. Throat and sinuses still stinging from the utterly vile stuff he had brought up, Sam croaked hoarsely at Dean, "How did you know? I -I couldn't --" He swallowed painfully.

"Rope burns," Dean said calmly. "The real Tim had rope burns from his escape." He looked at the mess on the front of Sam's shirt, his mouth twisting in a wry smile. "Puke out your nose? That's a new one."

"It's not a good one," Sam rasped, taking the bandanna that Dean proffered and wiping his face with it. "Water?"

"Get you some water in a minute, soon as we get back to the Impala."

The instant Tim cut the last tie around his ankles, Sam stood, wobbling on his feet as the room spun a little, and pulled him into a crushing hug, heedless of the mess between them.

"You're shaking," Tim whispered against his shoulder, but his hug back was equally intense and he trembled too. "That's quite a knock you took. You've got a knot the size of Dallas on the side of your head."

Sam smoothed his hands over Tim's hair, kissed his temple. Fuck. He was shaking even worse now, and not just because of the blow to his head. "I thought I was going to lose you," he managed to rasp. "I was so afraid I was going to lose you."

They stood like that for a few moments, hands hungrily roaming, caressing, murmuring, drinking each other in, Sam starting to feel better and stronger with each passing second, until Dean cleared his throat, handed him a bottle of water, and said that they could finish with the touchy feely stuff and help him take care of the body.

Tim flipped him the bird as Sam told him to shut up.

~oo(0)oo~

Before they got in the Impala, Sam pulled Tim aside and said softly, voice still scratchy, "I was as scared of losing you, Tim, as scared as I've ever been scared of losing Dean. You have to believe that. I ... I can't take losing both of you. _I can't_." His voice broke on the last words.

Tim froze, eyes shuttered over, and when he looked back, his eyes showed an emotion Sam had never seen in them before, a new kind of hope, a new kind of joy; Sam didn't know how to describe it, doubted a word existed for it. Tim said nothing, just stroked his hand through Sam's hair, pecked him gently on the lips, and climbed into his usual seat in the back of the Impala.

~oo(0)oo~

"You don't have to fuss over me," Tim said smiling and shaking his head at Sam as Sam cleaned the chafed and raw places on his wrists with a hot washcloth as a prelude to applying Neosporin. "I should be taking care of _you_."

"At this point, other than the Tylenol I just took and waiting for my sinuses to stop pouring snot? There's really not a damn thing to do for me. Besides, I _want_ to fuss over you.

"Look," Sam said after a moment, "despite what Dean says about me being all girly, I'm not much for big declarations. But if you want me to say it, I will."

Tim ducked his head, and when his eyes met Sam's again, they glowed honey warm. Tenderly he trailed his finger along the line of Sam's jaw. "I know, Sam. I know," he murmured, voice thick with emotion, barely audible. "Me too."

"It's dangerous, what we do."

Tim simply nodded in reply.

"Okay then." Sam didn't know what else to say. Their eyes met and they both laughed.

"Hallmark moment over?" Tim asked.

"Yes, thank God."

~oo(0)oo~

Out in the room, Dean paced restlessly, starting and jumping several times as Sam and Tim tried to watch the evening news. "I half wish they'd just show up and get it done," he muttered under his breath. He raked his fingers through his hair. "Fuck. Two more days of this shit to put up with."

"Don't wish like that," Sam said.

Tim said nothing. He simply climbed off the bed, grabbed his backpack and started shoving things in.

It took Sam a minute to figure out what Tim was up to, but when he did, he, too, rolled off the bed, grabbed his duffel, and began loading his clothes and gear in. It wasn't until he walked over to his laptop and shut it down that Dean finally spoke up. "What are you guys doing?"

"What does it look like?" Tim replied.

"It looks like you're packing."

Sam snorted. "That would be it. I suggest you start on your stuff."

Dean gaped at them. What ...? Oh, no. _Hell no_."

Tim looked at Sam, shrugged, and said, "Fine." His own bag done, he grabbed Dean's and reached for a pair of jeans Dean had left lying in the corner.

Dean crossed the room as if shot from a bow. "What are you doing?!" he shouted.

"Packing your crap," Tim replied, low and slow.

"The hell you --"

But Dean never got to finish because Tim hurled the bag at Dean, catching him off guard, and then launched himself immediately after, slamming Dean across the bed and on to the floor behind it.

The sound of a short, violent scuffle, punctuated by a loud groan of pain, followed. By the time Sam reached the two of them -- not that it took him more than two seconds -- Tim had things sorted. Dean lay face down, arm bent painfully back and up, and Tim sat atop him, lips pulled back in a snarl. "Don't you fucking move, Dean. Don't you fucking move. I will break your fucking arm if you move."

Dean closed his eyes, blew out a long breath, and said, "Not break it. Dislocate --" The words broke off in a hiss of pain as Tim bent Dean's arm even more.

"And if you think you can buck me off and get it back in place before I knock your ass to the floor again? You've got another thing coming, because I will fucking lay you out," Tim hissed, low and deadly.

"Uncle," Dean said with total ill grace.

Tim eased up on Dean's arm but did not release him. To Sam he said, "Get the cuffs."

Dean's eyes flew open in shock. "You ... you're really doing this!" His voice had gone squeaky with indignation, and if the situation weren't so dire, Sam would have laughed at him.

"Yup." Tim said. "So you're going to listen.

"See, part of me says a man's got a right to make up his own mind, know when to throw in the towel. Hell, I've thrown in the towel a lot of times. I've had it thrown in for me a lot of times. In Dillon, some things just aren't meant for a _Riggins_, and I learned that quick.

"Didn't mean I stopped trying, though. Because a lot of times when people want you to quit, they're being wrong, or selfish, or an asshole.

"Now, I get that you can't give in on this, Dean. Get that if you try to save yourself, Sam dies. But right now, this isn't about you, it's about Sam. Sam's never going to give up on you, and it's killing him even though he knows why you can't choose to fight.

"And there's something else. Sam's never going to give up on me. _Never_. I get that now. So, I'm never going to give up on him, and that means I'm not going to give up on you.

"But you _don't_ have to fight _us_, Dean. The deal was that _you_ couldn't break the deal or try to break the deal. There's nothing in there about Sam or me or anybody else trying to find a way to save you.

"So here's what's going to happen, you are going to get up and get in that car. And you are going to do _nothing_ all the way to Bobby's, and when we get there you are going to do _nothing_ except what we tell you to do.

"And if you don't do _nothing_, me and Sam will _make you_ and you will not like that. Because see if we don't stuff you in the fucking trunk." Tim took a deep breath. "Now, I'm going to get up, and one way or another, you're going in the car? Clear?"

Dean slowly got to his feet, eyes still watery from pain, glassy with rage.

"Get in the car, Dean," Sam whispered. "Get your bag and get in the car."

Dean gave a long, shuddering groan of frustration. "I can't fucking believe you got the upper hand on me, Tim."

Tim smiled wickedly and his eyes blazed with pride. "Coach Taylor always said, 'Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose' and he was right about that." Pause. "Now, get in the fucking car."

~oo(0)oo~

To Sam's surprise, Tim barred him from the driver's seat. "You took quite a blow to the head, Sam. I'm driving. It's not safe if you do."

Dean grumbled something from his place in the back seat, but Sam couldn't make it out.

"Tim --"

"I'll _make_ you, Sam. I mean it. You get some sleep and then you can spell me."

With a deep sigh, Sam handed the keys to Tim and climbed in the passenger side.

"You are so pussy whipped." Dean smirked at him.

Tim adjusted the rear view mirror so that Dean could see his eyes. "Want a second helping, Dean?"

~oo(0)oo~

Sam woke in the chilly dark at a rest stop in ... Kentucky. He rubbed blearily at his eyes. The last thing he remembered was the drone of the engine and Van Halen's first album just outside of the Atlanta Metro ring.

Dimly, through the glass, he heard Dean laugh about the fact that as a baby, Sam had always fallen asleep in the car and wouldn't fall asleep in a motel room until he was about two.

Tim laughed and said that as a small kid, he always used to get carsick.

Dean held out his hand. "Dude, I'll take the wheel."

"Nothing doing, Dean."

"Tim." Dean's voice rose in warning.

Tim crossed his arms and glared at Dean. "I'm not letting you do anything that that ... _thing_ might take as you breaking the deal or trying to help yourself."

Dean tsched, exasperated. "_Tim!_"

"I will throw these keys, Dean Winchester," Tim spoke calmly, enunciating each word. "Now go get Sam so we can get some coffee in him and he can take his turn."

Dean gave a heavy, petulant sigh. "You really are a pain in the ass sometimes."

Tim stretched and smiled. "I learned from the master."

~oo(0)oo~

Tim made a show of graciously letting Dean ride shotgun. Sam suspected it was because he wanted the back seat to sprawl across, because he fell asleep about five minutes after they left the rest stop.

"I made him pull over because he was about to fall asleep. Told him I needed to pee."

Sam mmmnd then said, "Good thinking, but you're still not driving."

They rode in silence but for the thrum of the engine and the sound of the air rushing by until Sam said, "Dean, why don't you get some sleep?"

Dean scrubbed his hands over his face and raked his fingers through his hair. "Can't, Sammy. They're baying."

Sam increased their speed another 10 mph. Hopefully not enough to attract the attention of an overzealous member of law enforcement, but hopefully enough to buy them a few more ticks of the clock.

~oo(0)oo~

Tim spelled him shortly after dawn at a rest stop in ... fuck, he didn't even know. Still too early to call Bobby, though.

Sam whispered to him that Dean had been hearing hounds baying off and on all night.

Tim thought for a moment and asked, "Should we even be letting him out of the car?"

"I can totally hear you two talking, and yes, you should let me out of the car, because I need to pee from time to time." Dean said as he came back from the restroom. "And they won't come for me before it's time. They can't. There are rules and things."

Tim blew a raspberry at him. "Like you've never pissed in a cup."

Actually, they both had. Plenty of times. It had been one of the staples of their childhood, especially when Dad had been eager to make time.

"But what if I got to take a shit, too?"

"We'll get you some astronaut diapers," Sam replied.

Dean chortled sourly. "This isn't the time to be making jokes."

"I'm not."

Dean glared back and was about to say something else, but Tim cleared his throat. "I'm not quite so sure I like the look of those guys over there."

Sam and Dean turned their heads in time to see one of men flick his eyes to black.

_Shit._

Ass crack of dawn be damned. Sam whipped out his phone and called Bobby.

"I've got an idea," Tim said to Dean, but before Sam could tell both of them to shut up, the phone picked up.

"Bobby --" Sam began as he watched Tim and Dean burst from the car, "We've got problems."

"Such as?"

"Well, for starters," he said as he watched Tim and Dean run towards the three possessed guys sitting at the table, "Tim and Dean are up to something, and I have no idea what."

A paused followed and then Bobby said querulously, "And?"

"They're whooping and laughing like loons and running around the table in opposite directions and, sprinkling something ... shit! They've got salt cans in their hands!" He sighed heavily. "I think they're trying to salt the demons in."

"What?"

"We're at a rest stop. I think it's Iowa. There are three demons sitting on a table not far from us."

Bobby chortled. "Probably not going to much more than piss them off."

Sam groaned and flipped the bird in the general direction of the bewildered looking demons. "Probably not."

Tim and Dean stormed back towards him, still laughing, shouting at him to get his ass in the car and drive.

"I'll call you when I get a moment, I think I'm about to be hitting the road." He said and hung up the phone. And only then did he realize he'd forgotten to tell Bobby about Dean and the hellhounds.

Fuck.

~oo(0)oo~

Sam let Dean and Tim celebrate for about 30 seconds before he cut them off. "So, what happens when those demons jump body, now that you've pissed them off?"

A long pause followed.

"We ... we didn't think about that," Tim said.

"No you didn't think!" Sam snapped and wished he could pull the word back as soon as he saw Tim's flinch.

"Oh, _shut up_, Sam," Dean replied.

"Now they're gunning for us --"

"They were gunning for us anyways, Sam. All we did was confirm that we've got to keep our eyes peeled."

"But -- oh, fuck it." His hands clenched in a death grip on the wheel.

Yeah, it was a stupid thing for them to do, but Dean was right, too. Since the demons were looking for them anyway why not put some mud in their eyes? And maybe it got those demons out of those people before too much damage got done.

Maybe.

In the back seat, Tim scrunched into the back corner, tucking his knees up under his chin. He stared silently, vacantly, out the window.

Fuck.

"I'm sorry," Sam said two hours later after he couldn't take the silence any longer. "Look. I'm just -- we're all on edge."

"Hit the brakes," Tim said.

"What?"

"Hit the brakes, slow down. There's a truck over on the frontage road. It's been driving there an awful long time, despite two chances to get on the highway, and I'm not sure I like that."

_Fuck!_

~oo(0)oo~

Sam sucked in a deep breath, took his foot off the gas and gently tapped the brakes until he had the needle pegged on 55.

The truck zoomed on.

"Doesn't prove anything," Dean grumbled, wincing violently at a sound only he heard.

"If we catch up to it, we'll know for sure we've got an ... escort," Tim replied with a calm that Sam envied.

"Yeah, so?"

Tim pasted a sweet smile on his face and said, very solemnly, "Knowing is half the battle."

Sam held back a snicker.

"Yeah, well, you're not G.I. Joe," Dean snapped.

"And this demon isn't Cobra Commander."

Even Dean had to smile at that one.

Brief levity aside, Sam kept an eye glued to the rear view mirror. A few times he thought they might have had a tail, but it turned out to be nothing. He hoped.

Unless of course, they were working in shifts, but it wasn't like demons to be that organized or subtle, not unless they had somebody extremely powerful over them.

Then again, the Crossroads Demon had hinted that the lien holder wasn't an ordinary demon. His stomach churning sourly at the notion -- spiking every time Dean flinched, or Tim's mouth drew in to a hard, tight line -- Sam kept the needle pegged at a steady 80.


	12. Chapter 12

They pulled up to Bobby's door just as the sun started sinking low in the sky, the Impala running on fumes, Sam's bladder about to burst.

"For the record," Dean announced as he stepped out of the car, "I'm just doing this so the car doesn't get trashed."

"I don't give a damn why you're doing this," Bobby said as he hustled down from the porch, sawed off shotgun in hand, "just so long as you get your ass in the house before sundown."

"Where's Tyra and Landry?" Tim asked as soon as they hit the porch.

"In their room. Working on something." Bobby sighed heavily.

Sam bumped into Tyra on his way to the bathroom. Her face looked puckered and strained and (for an aching moment) made him think of Jess cramming for a final.

(But why did she look so strained, he wondered bitterly. It's not as if she knew Dean well. His ~~impending horrific~~ potential death really wouldn't mean much to beyond the abstract ... okay, it would be a terrible thing to witness, but still.)

He shook his head, drew a deep breath and blew it out his nose. He didn't have time for that -- brooding solved nothing and he needed to focus on the here and now.

"Sam. You've got to see this," Tim said breathlessly as soon as he stepped back into the hall.

~oo(0)oo~

Sam didn't bother to even try and contain his whoop when he saw it. Granted, Dean didn't look so happy to be in it, but ...

"I feel like the Bubble Boy." He groused.

"Better here than in H-- than in a _worse_ place," Bobby replied.

Dean tsked skeptically and then flopped into the bunk built into the side of the wall. "I can see them, you know." His voice only shook a little. "There's a whole pack of them just outside the door. Howling and whining. Their eyes ... they want me _so bad_." He closed his eyes.

"Nothing's getting in there," Bobby said. "Walls of cold iron, rings of salt, devils traps, and even some of that special mojo that Landry and Tyra have cooked up."

Sam had to admit he was impressed. It was a supernatural Fort Knox. "It's just for a few days, Dean."

"Yeah, and what if it isn't?" Dean swallowed hard. "What if -- would you want to spend the rest of your life in solitary?"

_Want_ to? No. But would he if he had to? Yes. "Think of it as being a medieval monk," Sam said flatly and spun on his heel. He wasn't going to argue with Dean about this. Not now. Not ever. Dean was going to live through this. Period.

Bobby reached over, grabbed a box off the shelf, and opened it. "Wolfsbane," he said, pulling a twig out. "I want those mangy curs out of my house." Dipping it in holy water, he began using it to sprinkle the holy water as he chanted in Latin. Sam grabbed his own twig. The occasional hiss and yelp, plus directions from Dean, let them know when the room was clear. Bobby placed the twigs on the door frame. "That'll keep 'em out of here."

When Sam got upstairs he found Tim laying salt in front of the windows and doors. "Can't hurt," he said, flashing Sam a thin smile.

~oo(0)oo~

"What now?" Sam asked when they all got back to the front room.

Bobby raised an eyebrow as if to say "you're an idijt" and said, "We wait."

But Sam didn't want to wait. "What's the _plan_? What are we doing?"

"We're _waiting_," Tim spoke from his position slouched against the kitchen door. "If the stakes weren't so high, I'd reach for a six pack."

Sam sighed.

"Sun sets in a few minutes." Bobby said.

Tim murmured, "I suppose that thing about they have until midnight to claim your soul is --"

"It's an old wives tale." Sam and Bobby spoke in unison.

Tim said nothing. Just pursed his lips thoughtfully and dry scrubbed his hands.

With a muffled groan Bobby stood and headed into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with three bottles of Pabst Blue Ribbon. "We might as well," he muttered. "Sometimes there's just no substitute for a cold beer." After he took his first swallow he looked at Tim and said, "Nice bit of bling there on your neck."

Tim absently stroked the left panther head with his thumb a few times, flicked his eyes over to Sam for a moment before fixing Bobby with a level gaze. "Yeah, it's a keeper."

Bobby smiled tightly and said, "So long as I don't catch you two fooling around on the kitchen table like some other idiots I know, it's all good."

And that was that. They sipped at their beers and the room grew so quiet that they could hear Bobby's old Regulator clock ticking away on the mantle.

They all jumped a few minutes later when a sharp rap came at the door. Ruby. Not so impossibly golden and perfect as on the Astral Plane, in fact she showed signs of having been in a scuffle.

Bobby nodded in acknowledgment and put a gap in the salt.

"I'm sorry," she said to Sam as soon as she stepped through.

Sam nodded. "You did what you could."

"Boy did I ever." She smiled thinly and brushed at the dirt on the front of her jeans. "Where is he? Can I see him?"

~oo(0)oo~

"Impressive," she said dryly, upon seeing the safe room.

Dean took the beer that Tim brought for him, but asked if Bobby could bring down something a little stiffer. "I think that getting skunked is the only thing that will drown out the sound."

~oo(0)oo~

"Guys, who is this?" Tyra asked a little nervously as soon as they all came back up stairs.

"It's Ruby," Sam explained, "She's --" Ruby must have flicked her eyes because Tyra and Landry jumped back as if stung. "-- not like the others. Believe it or not, she's here to help. She's tried to help me find a way to break Dean's deal."

"Really?" Landry arched a skeptical eyebrow.

"Really." Sam replied.

They sat down next to him on Bobby's battered and threadbare loveseat. Tyra shuffled uneasily and whispered something in Landry's ear. He shrugged and murmured something back. They both looked at their watches and then at the clock. She whispered again. Landry replied, loud enough for Sam to hear, "I don't know."

"Something you two love birds want to share with us?" Bobby asked.

Flustered, Tyra stammered no. The fidgeting resumed.

Tim stood up and said, "Tyra, Landry, it looks like we're in for a long night. Why don't you help me make some coffee?"

Landry blinked at that, then something resigned came over him as he stood.

Sam counted to 60 before getting up and heading into the kitchen. A quick glance confirmed that the coffee maker was on. He saw Tim, back to him, in the entry of the utility room.

"What's going on?" He had to strain to hear Tim's voice as he tiptoed across the floor.

"What do you mean, what's going on?" Landry whispered.

"Don't bullshit me," Tim hissed. "I might not have known you all my life, but Tyra's hiding something."

Sam crossed his arms and glared at them over Tim's shoulder. The first splash of coffee hissed into the pot.

Tyra muttered something under her breath and studied her fingernails. Tim didn't say anything, just fixed his gaze on her. Sam tried to do the same to Landry, but he whipped around and gripped the sink.

His voice barely above a whisper, Sam said, "That's my brother's _life_ hanging in the balance. If there's something going on? _I need to know_."

"Tyra," Tim said, low and soft. Pleading.

"We summoned a demon," Landry murmured.

"You _what?!_" Sam and Tim gasped.

Tyra drew a deep shuddering breath, studied her hands for a moment, then met their eyes with a clear, direct gaze. "We made a bargain." She swallowed. "We found out the name of the demon with the contract."

"Do you have any idea of what --" Sam began.

"Yes, Sam, we _do_," Landry cut in. "We do. It's not just you Hunters in the field who face danger."

"Look," Tyra said, "we summoned her and nothing happened. We've been waiting and ... in a little bit we'll try again, or maybe -- maybe you can help us. Show us what we got wrong."

"We didn't get anything wrong," Landry hissed between clenched teeth. "We've done this enough times before to know what we're doing."

"I hope it didn't cost you too much," Tim said, voice laced with regret.

Tyra smiled bitterly. "We can't say. Part of the deal."

"Nothing that's going to bite us in the ass. We thought this deal through before we agreed and insisted on a lot of clarifications before we agreed to it." Anger colored Landry's voice. "Look, it's not like we were born yesterday."

"Which demon did you make the deal with?" Sam asked.

"Ones that are rarely active in this reality -- they call themselves Wolf, Ram, and Hart."

"This _reality_?"

Landry's eyes got an eager gleam in them as he drew in a deep breath.

"And there's my cue to check the coffee," Tim said, backing away from the door.

"This reality?" Sam prompted when Tim opened the cupboard above the coffee maker.

Landry gestured excitedly as he spoke. "Well, you see, all of creation, the multiverse, is kind of like a snowflake, and in each dimension --"

"Landry, hon, perhaps this isn't the best time to explain the shape of reality --"

"The _perceived_ shape of reality, Tyra."

"What_ever_," she groaned. "Look, Sam, there's more than one dimension, one reality. Just take our word for it."

Sam gave a wry smile. "Yeah, I could see how most science journals wouldn't take a proof of string theory based on the occult."

Tyra's lips quirked in amusement.

"Dean likes cream and sugar, right?" Tim asked from behind the refrigerator door.

Inwardly Sam smiled. For a guy who liked to rag on him for being all "girly", Dean liked his coffee full of cream and sugar. "Yeah." He stood back to let Tyra and Landry out of the utility room the buzzer sounded on coffee maker. "About what time did you summon the demon?" he asked as they passed.

"A few minutes before sunset," Landry replied, "Why?"

Sam's knees buckled. Tissue thin, the words fell from his lips, "That's not Ruby in there."

"What?!" Landry gasped.

But Sam was already in motion. Grabbing Tim by the arm, he hauled him towards the back door and whispered in his ear, "Get the emergency bag out of the car."

He then pulled Landry and Tyra back to the utility room. Mouth as dry as the Sahara, he whispered, "That's _not Ruby_, that's whoever you summoned and there's not a Devil's Trap to hold her. I'm going to put a line of salt and a hex across this door, but you have got to be prepared to _move_."

"But, Sam, she _is_ trapped," Tyra whisper-hissed back, eyes alight with excitement.

"Listen to me," Landry said, gripping his arm tightly, eyes burning with fanatical urgency, "She's trapped. I just need to tighten the snare is all. I'm going to duck down the hall. I need you to keep her in whatever chair she's in. Bring her coffee. Make small talk. _Sit on her damn lap if you have to_." He pushed past Sam.

Her face frozen in a tight smile, Tyra whispered that they'd explain in a moment, and then helped him grab mugs and fill them with coffee. They stepped into the living room just as Tim came back into the kitchen with the bag and the shotgun.

(Shit.)

Sam looked over his shoulder and with his eyes, told Tim to duck out of sight, praying as he had never prayed that Tim would understand. Through a mouth that felt numb as wood, he spoke, "So, how do you take your coffee?"

"Black, of course." Not-Ruby smiled and winked.

Tyra, bless her, actually managed to smile back at the joke and set the cup down next to not-Ruby without spilling any.

But not-Ruby's smile twisted, turning poisonous. "Tell Tim to step into the room."

Tim did, shotgun cocked and ready.

_Fuck!_ Whatever Landry was doing, Sam hoped it was done, or close enough because this was about to go south.

"Rock salt?" Not-Ruby laughed. "How quaint." She took a sip of her coffee. "I suppose this is where we cut the shit?"

"Did I turn two pages here?" Bobby asked, setting his cup aside.

"Yes," Landry said, bustling into the room with a sheet of paper, "But we'll get everybody on the same page ASAP." He and Tyra shared a conspiratorial smile.

"That's not Ruby," Tyra said. "Her name is Lilith and she's here for Dean."

Tim leveled the gun at Lilith.

Lilith rolled her eyes _white_ and scoffed. "Silly boy, that's not going to stop me."

"Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose," Tim snarled under his breath.

"Such bravado, I love it!" Lilith purred and gestured almost idly.

Nothing happened.

She gestured again, more frantically and then leaped off the easy chair, rebounding back into it almost instantly. Smoke poured out of the mouth of her host body and filled an invisible cylinder, swirling angrily for several moments before flooding back in. Eyes blazing with rage and hate, Lilith shrieked at Sam, "What have you done?!"

The steady calm of his voice surprised Sam. "I haven't done anything. Neither has Dean. I have no idea what's going on here."

"We did it," Landry said.

It was Bobby's turn to glare at Tyra and Landry, "I thought I told you --"

"Yes, you did," Tyra said. "But this is tested. It will hold."

"You can put the gun down, Tim," Landry said.

"I want to shoot her, just on general principles," Tim growled. "Also, I'm not taking chances."

Tyra circled over to him and gently pushed the barrel towards the floor. "She's not going anywhere until we let her," she said, voice clear and sweet.

With a loud bang, a thin crack opened in the plaster of the ceiling -- but it didn't extend past the diameter of the circle.

"It's not a Solomon's Seal, hon." Tyra flashed a patronizing smile at Lilith.

"Although it works on the same principles," Landry said almost absentmindedly before he collected himself. "See, there's a reason that 'in the beginning was the word.' Language describes reality. Writing and speaking words are one way to use a language to shape reality, and that's the principle that a Solomon's Seal works off of. It describes trapping a demon inside the boundaries of the unbroken circle."

Which explained, of course, why Lilith had tried to break the ceiling -- Sam had seen that trick used before by very powerful demons to break loose by literally breaking the circle.

"Mathematics is also a language describing reality. What I have here," Landry indicated the sheet of paper, "is an equation that describes a cylinder and where it is in terms of a set of geographic coordinates and it describes how a demon named Lilith is bound within it across an infinite number of dimensions --"

Bobby chuckled. "Well I'll be -- _that's_ why you two were so all fired up about the county property maps!"

Tyra smiled tightly. "That's what we were doing all those days, Bobby. We were triangulating just about every square inch of your property."

Landry beamed at Tyra. "See, I told you that Algebra, Geometry, and Trigonometry had uses beyond just being busy work."

"So what now?" Sam asked.

"That depends on Lilith," Landry said. "If she agrees to release Dean from the terms of the deal and let him and Sam live, I'll write a new equation, one that releases her into the dimension of my choice."

"Or, she can spend eternity sitting on Bobby's old lounge chair," Tyra said brightly.

"Well, not eternity," Landry corrected. "Eventually, like the paper, it's going to crumble, but considering that this is 100% cotton rag fiber and I wrote it using Noodler's Bulletproof ink which is waterproof, fraudproof, and archival? _And_ I've got a mylar sleeve standing by?"

"It's going to be a long fucking time," Sam said, grinning ear to ear. He stepped over to Tim and took the shotgun. "Let's see if I can't help her make up her mind." In a smooth motion born of years of practice, he leveled the gun at her and fired.

Lillith screamed and writhed in agony as the salt tore into her.

"And there's more where that came from," Sam said. "I could go all night if I had to."

"I've also got a piece of chalk," Tyra said, "If I draw a Solomon's Seal around you, we can compel your cooperation."

At a look from Bobby, Landry murmured, "I'm still working on that bit -- magimatical notation has a few limitations."

"Let Dean go," Sam said. "Call off the hellhounds and promise you won't seek revenge or retribution of any kind."

"Get real," Lilith snarled. "I'll let Dean out of his deal and go back to Hell. But anything beyond that? No."

"Fair enough." Sam said.

Landry addressed her. "So, we have a deal then. I'll rewrite the equation on the understanding that you release your claim on Dean and don't consider this a violation of any previous pacts with him."

"Yes." She snarled the word.

"And you swear this by your true name and the name of the Adversary?"

Hate twisted her mouth into something ugly. "Yes!" She lashed out one last time with her powers, but all she succeeded in doing was shredding Bobby's old chair.

"Good," Landry said as if nothing had happened. "Give me a few moments to re-do this and you'll be good to go."

~oo(0)oo~

It was almost anti-climatic. Landry hadn't even set the pen aside when thick black smoke boiled out of the body the demon had worn.

"I can't believe we pulled it off!" Tyra gasped, taking the paper from Landry's hand.

"I wonder who she was," Landry said in a hushed tone, indicating the body of the woman on the chair.

Bobby cleared his throat. "Nothing for her now but a good send off."

But Sam got what Landry was trying to say. Somebody was probably looking for this woman. But to try to give them, whoever they were, a measure of closure would cause more problems than it would solve. Tim's eyes mirrored the sentiment back at him. The world wasn't fair that way. Bobby had it right, time to start gathering the wood for her cremation.

 

~oo(0)oo~

Dean guffawed when he saw the piece of paper, then, a calculating glint entered his eyes. "She's still bound ... right?"

"Yeah," Landry replied. "As long as that equation is intact, she can only go to Hell --"

"Or what's left of Bobby's easy chair." Tim snickered.

"Same difference," Sam said.

"And as soon as Bobby drags that chair away?" Landry grinned wickedly. "Well ... right now she can only manifest as a column of smoke, unless we happen to have a body there for her to slip into."

"So, Bobby," Dean said, "You got a nice secure file cabinet down here in your panic room? Because, if I'm understanding this right, she's as good as permanently banished until something happens to that paper."

Landry scratched his chin thoughtfully and said, "Y'know, I never did agree to destroy or rewrite _this_ equation. I'll fetch a mylar."

"Serves the bitch right," Dean said.

"And no more chairs in that spot," Bobby noted. "I don't want one of us being possessed, even if she can't go anywhere or do anything with the body."

~oo(0)oo~

"So what now?" Sam asked Tim as he sank into the couch.

Tim laughed he sat down next to Sam and popped the top off a fresh beer. "I say we rest up a week or two down in the privacy of the panic room --" he gave Sam a lewd wink "and then we take your dad's old truck and go Hunting -- just you and me."

Sam drew a breath to quash that notion but then hesitated. Hunting ... without Dean. It just didn't seem right, but Tim had a point. It was time for him to figure out who he was outside of Dean. "It will be a hell of a honeymoon," he replied.

Tim grinned. "I wasn't exactly thinking of it like that, but yeah." He leaned forward, fishing Sam's laptop out of the bag. "I'll see if I can find something with a heart-shaped bed or mirrors on the ceiling."

Sam laughed. "And then we can go to San Francisco."

"Y'know, a lot of people used to joke about who was finally going to get a collar on Tim Riggins," Tyra said as she strode into the room. "I just didn't think it would happen literally." She held her hands out for the laptop. "Hand it over, Riggs, I'll at least make sure you two get AAA rated places."

"So you like my torc?" Tim asked, a bit of tease in his tone.

"Yep," Tyra said, not looking up. "And when I get you booked, I'm going to see if I can find myself one just like it --" She flashed a wicked grin "-- to put around Landry's neck."

~oo(0)oo~

That night as he curled around a soundly sleeping Tim down in the panic room, Sam pondered the fact that he never thought he'd get a happily ever after, and this certainly wasn't what most people's idea of that looked like, but ....

Dean needed an extended break from Hunting, and he could help Bobby train Landry and Tyra in field work. They'd never be hardcore Hunters, but they'd need to know what to do if they had to take on a case or found themselves in the middle of one. Bobby also wanted to work with Landry on writing down and codifying magimatical notation. Sam snickered at the title that Landry had already come up with: _ Introductio in Analysin Daemonium Infinitorum _.

Bobby probably wasn't going to get the peace and quiet he claimed he longed for, not unless he took a vacation, and nah, he was too happy to do that.

Tim stirred and rolled over, Sam looked down to see Tim studying him with an intensely thoughtful look on his face. "No regrets," Tim said solemnly.

"None," he replied, and then, "Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose."

Tim smiled and kissed him before closing his eyes and tucking his head against Sam's shoulder.

Yeah, so this didn't look a damn thing like most other people's happily ever afters.

But it was here and it was _his_.

And damned if he wasn't going to make the most of it.


End file.
